


Tomatoes

by Masterdramon



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Awkward Romance, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Humor, Prequel, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterdramon/pseuds/Masterdramon
Summary: Junko Kaname has never lacked for direction in her life. Fresh out of college, she's got a firm plan for how the next few decades are going to go...and those plans leave no room for romance. So what is she to do when a chance encounter with a humble, unassuming tomato-grower starts to pull her thoughts in directions she never expected? Four-part miniseries.





	1. To Market, To Market

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t own Puella Magi Madoka Magica. All Madoka-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Studio SHAFT and Gen Urobuchi.

“And _then_ he told me that my takoyaki was ‘too sticky.’  I mean, that is…what does that even _mean?_   It’s takoyaki, for crying out loud!  That’s just how I make it, and if his poor wittle stomach can’t take that then how is it _my_ problem?  So anyway, the _next_ morning…”

 

Junko Kaname, for her part, sighed inwardly and rested her head in one hand, pretending to listen. 

 

Kazuko went on rants like this at _least_ once a week, and her best friend has long since learned there was no stopping her once she got on a roll.  Better to let the brunette run herself out of steam on her own – there were less headaches for _everyone_ involved, that way.

 

“And so, in conclusion…screw _all_ men, way deep up the ass, with a totem pole,” Kazuko Saotome finally finished, finishing the rest of her sake in a single gulp.  “Come on, what do you say, Junko?  Gonna join me?”

 

“Oh, uh…sure.  Definitely,” said Junko, barely listening.  “Err…wait, _what_ am I joining you for?”

 

“Swearing off _all_ men!” the teacher-in-training exclaimed dramatically, raising her arm upward in a pose evocative of a sentai hero.  “When was the last time _any_ of them did something worth a damn, huh?”

 

“Well, our waiter seems a nice enough guy,” Junko couldn’t help but snark.  “Hasn’t cut off our…err, _supply,_ anyway.”

 

Kazuko, for her part, instantly flushed and crossed her arms, pouting at her friend.  “Y…You _know_ what I mean!” she replied, probably louder than she’d been intending.  “I’m talking about _dates,_ Junko!  When’s the last time you had a _date_ who didn’t turn out to be a total creep, a judgmental loser, or both?!”

 

“Dunno.  I don’t really _date_ the way you do, at all,” Junko told her disinterestedly.  “It’s just not something I’m interested in.”

 

The other woman’s eyes widened behind her thick glasses.  “That can’t _possibly_ be true,” she said.  “I mean…just _look_ at you, Junko!  You’re practically sex on legs in that suit!  You can’t be telling me you don’t have _dozens_ of men throwing themselves at you every day!  And probably a few women, too…”

 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Kazuko,” the purple-haired woman responded with a shrug.  “It’s just not on my radar.  When I go to work, it’s to _work._   I mean, _maybe_ some of my coworkers are interested, but if they are I don’t know and I don’t _wanna_ know.  Women in business have a hard enough time being taken seriously.  The _last_ thing I need is to play into some dumbass stereotype.”

 

Kazuko just pursed her lips.  “You know, you were _never_ this uptight in college,” she reminded her friend, raising an eyebrow pointedly.  “Not by a _long_ shot.”

 

“H…Hey!  I’m not uptight!” Junko immediately blurted out, looking offended.  “And sex in college was different, anyway.  There, all you had to do to get laid was go to a party, get drunk, and make out with the cutest, dumbest boy in the room for half an hour.  These days, it’s all flowers, fancy restaurants, crappy poetry… _that’s_ what I don’t have time for.”

 

Finishing off the rest of her bowl as well, the businesswoman declared in a quieter voice, “I’ve got a ten-year plan going right now, and it _doesn’t_ leave room for romance.”

 

“Well, _alright_ …” said Kazuko, sighing deeply.  “But I still say you don’t know what you’re missing.”

 

Now it was Junko’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “Hold the phone.  Weren’t you _just_ asking me to join you in a vow of celibacy, like a whole two minutes ago?” she asked.

 

“Err…uhh…well, yeah!  But that’s…that’s _beside_ the point!” the brunette attempted to argue, not at all convincingly.  “ _Urgh_ …what I _mean_ is, I’m only giving up on men because I’ve…y’know…tried the whole buffet!  And none of the dishes were worth a damn!  But you… _you_ didn’t even make it to the table!”

 

Completely flustered, Kazuko flopped her chin down onto the table and mumbled, “That, uh…didn’t really come out right.  But you get what I mean, don’t you?”

 

“I guess,” Junko answered, shrugging again.  “Look…if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll join in on your whole ‘boycott the men’ crusade.  Same reason I’d join in on a ‘boycott the mayonnaise’ – not losing anything I would’ve cared about anyway.”

 

Lethargy from their rather hefty drinking session slowly beginning to flood in, Kazuko lazily turned her head – still glued to the table between them – and asked, “Is my personal life really such a joke to you?”

 

“Not always,” said Junko, patting her best friend comfortingly on the shoulder.  “But when you get like this…yeah, maybe a _little_ bit.”

 

Getting to her feet to pay off their now rather-considerable tab, the young businesswoman donned what she hoped was a supportive smile and added, “Cheer up, Kazuko.  It’ll all look better after a good night’s sleep.  And until you get back on that wagon…consider me _intentionally_ dateless, not _just_ out of disinterest.  I’ve got your back, girlfriend.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Were this a romantic comedy, Junko would’ve known _exactly_ what’d come next.

 

Such brazen tempting of fate could _only_ result in Mister Right spontaneously appearing around the next corner, probably just in time for an adorably awkward first encounter that’d make good trailer fodder.  Bonus points if they _literally_ bumped into each other – complete with a mad scramble for dropped items, inevitably leading their hands to brush against each other, and their eyes to slowly meet in stunned, awed silence…

 

Junko had to suppress the urge to gag.  There was a reason she freaking _hated_ romantic comedies.  Give her a horror flick or an American action movie any day.

 

The _truly_ funny thing, though, was that her overly clichéd imaginings weren’t _that_ far off the mark.  They were merely a few seconds fast…and involved the wrong target.

 

She saw the impact coming a split-second before it occurred.  The man involved was carrying a stack of three wooden crates, limiting his field of vision as he struggled to keep his balance, while the woman wasn’t looking where she was going at all, her entire focus directed downward at her phone.

 

Junko almost shouted a warning, but by the time she thought to do so it was already too late.  The young businesswoman cringed as both individuals tumbled to the ground, one of the crates popping open and emptying its contents all over the sidewalk.

 

The other woman, however, did not respond to this by falling in love at first sight – or at least if she did, she had a rather odd way of showing it.  Shouting something to the effect of “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy little…!” and then several rather more… _colorful_ words, the woman picked herself off the ground, dusted off her dress, and strode off without a single glance back.

 

Junko watched on as the man rushed to collect the items – what looked from this distance to be hundreds of small, reddish balls – and bit her lip.  He looked pretty pathetic, honestly, hunched over and crawling on his hands and knees as the “balls” rolled away from him in every direction.

 

The handful of other people on the street seemed to feel similarly, swerving around the man and averting their eyes from his frantic scramble.  Junko knew the smart thing was to follow their lead and just keep walking; even _without_ stopping, she was gonna wind up a couple minutes late to work at this rate.

 

But without really _deciding_ to, she instead bent down as she approached.

 

“You alright?” she asked of him. “Need any help there?”

 

Already, she was hoping he’d say no.  It was selfish, to be sure…but this was her best suit, and she’d really prefer not mess it up for something like this.

 

The man, for his part, looked up from his task slowly, clearly surprised she was talking to him.  Chuckling nervously, he responded, “Oh!  Oh, err…well…”

 

He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I really appreciate the offer, ma’am, but…err…don’t worry about it,” he said.  “This sort of stuff happens to me all the time, I’m used to it.”

 

“Not sure you _should_ be,” Junko couldn’t help but add.  “But…if you insist.  I’ll leave you to your…uh…ping pong balls?”

 

The man chuckled again at her guess.  “They’re tomatoes, actually,” he informed her, now picking up the last few stray handfuls.  “I grow them in my garden myself.  I was taking them to the farmer’s market, actually…but I guess _this_ batch is gonna need to be washed again first.”

 

“The farmer’s market?  Oh, uh…I see.  Maybe I’ll make it over there later?” stated Junko carefully.

 

She didn’t actually mean a word of it.  To have some use for fresh produce, one would first need to know how to _cook_ …and Junko most certainly did not.  She was capable of creating passable sandwiches – that was about it.

 

“Oh!  D…Definitely!” the man replied, looking askance as he sealed the box back shut.  “My booth’ll be right near the corner of Pinion Street – you can’t miss it.  I’ll save you a free sample, Miss…”

 

“Kaname.  I’m Junko Kaname,” she said, smiling as he stood back up.  She couldn’t help noting he cut a significantly more impressive figure when he was upright…and _not_ crawling all over the sidewalk for his tomatoes.

 

“My name’s Tomohisa Inoue,” he offered, smiling warmly.  As noted by a part of her mind that rarely if ever provided commentary, it was a rather nice smile.  “Have a wonderful day, Kaname-san.”

 

“Err…likewise,” she mumbled, suddenly feeling more than a little strange.  A quick glance at her watch, however, made it clear there was little time to spend thinking about it, so she bowed her head respectfully and began to move past him.

 

Before he was completely out of earshot, however, Junko was struck by an impulse, and turned back to add one more thing, her tone teasing and playful:

 

“Just…can you make sure my sample comes from one of the _other_ boxes, please?”

 

[--------------------]

 

Frontier Settings was a commercial real estate firm, specializing in venues ideal for small businesses or franchise outlets.

 

Junko had managed to snag a bottom-rung position there directly out of college, thanks to her already substantial resume – she’d taken no less than five internships in various offices across her school career, plus a stint as editor of the student paper.  Bouncing around various low-level jobs within the company over the past two years, a colleague’s early retirement had recently lucked her into a much more rewarding position: personal assistant to the company president.

 

Yes, she was still more than occasionally miffed at being a glorified secretary – her education had been geared toward becoming an executive in her own right, and that was still the direction her ambitions lay – but the work was varied and challenging, and in any event Junko tended to consider it a stepping stone to better things.

 

Still, while her day-to-day tasks could range anywhere from managing the president’s schedule to helping crunch the numbers when it came time to process the next year’s budget…it also involved getting him tea.

 

 “Thank you, Junko,” he said, sipping deeply into the sharp blend.  President Masaoka was very particular about his tea, and when she’d started this job she’d needed to get very good at it very quickly.  She’d rather he never learn the first cup she’d made him was also the first cup of tea she’d prepared, _ever._

 

Thank god for the internet.

 

“Now, can we talk about the Sea Fragrance file?” he asked after a little while, as he finished the last of his cup.

 

Inwardly, Junko groaned.  Sea Fragrance was a hair salon that was trying to open in the nearby Asunaro City, repurposing the retail space of a small café that’d closed down three years ago.  And at this point, around the office, nearly every employee spoke of it in hushed tones – the entire process having dragged on for so long, and experienced so many problems and delays, that even the steadfastly agnostic Junko was half-convinced it was cursed.

 

Still, the president didn’t know any of that, and Junko wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.  It was too alluring of an opportunity for her own career.

 

“Yosuke just decided to drop the whole thing, Masaoka-sama,” she answered, deciding a little bit of the truth was probably the best thing to offer right now.  Maybe it wasn’t nice to rat a coworker out like that, but it wasn’t _her_ fault he’d shown up drunk yesterday and cursed out their client as “the shitstain to end all shitstains.”

 

Of course, the fact that Yosuke getting canned would open up a job directly above her _might_ have been a contributing factor.

 

“Well, we’ll see just how much he likes ‘dropping’ things when he comes up for performance review next month,” grunted the president, and Junko’s mental image of herself practically did a backflip.  “You can salvage this mess, I hope?”

 

“Oh, definitely.  You can count on me, sir!” she said, deciding she’d told more than enough truth for one morning.

 

And hey, you never knew.  Sure, dealing with clients directly was completely outside both her job description and her practical experience, and sure, Yosuke was only the _fifth_ realtor to give up on completing this sale.  But if the big boss was going to put his faith in _her_ to make the impossible happen…then dammit, she needed to at least _try_ to make it happen.

 

“Wait…one more thing, before you get buried in all that,” President Masaoka added after a moment’s pause.

 

“What is it, Masaoka-sama?” she asked, leaning forward a little bit.

 

He leaned forward slightly as well, his voice taking on a hushed tone that made it sound as if he was sharing some kind of conspiracy.

 

“It’s, err…well, it’s my daughter’s ninth birthday today,” he finally told her, causing Junko’s eyebrow to rise; she hadn’t been expecting anything like _this_ at all.  “My wife’s busy making her a cake for the party tonight, but something still feels like it’s… _missing._ ”

 

Junko crossed her fingers that the next question wasn’t going to be “Any suggestions on the recipe?”  Or, if it was, that he’d give her the chance to duck out of here and call Kazuko for advice.

 

Yeah…Kazuko would know all about _that_ sort of thing.  And she _did_ owe Junko a favor, after introducing her to that nice…

 

Okay, bad example.

 

“She _really_ loves strawberries.  They’re her favorite food,” the president went on, jolting Junko out of her brief reverie.  “Hmm…yeah, that’d work.  Load up the cake with ‘em, she’ll love it…”

 

“Did you…need me to run to the grocery store for you?” Junko asked tentatively.

 

“No, no…for my girl, it can’t just be the cheap, store-bought kind.  Need some way to get ‘em fresh,” said President Masaoka.  Eventually, his eyes brightened and he snapped his fingers.  “Hold on.  Wasn’t there supposed to be some farmer’s market in town today?  I think I saw a flyer for it in the paper.”

 

Junko’s inner voice groaned loudly again.

 

[--------------------]

 

Junko Kaname didn’t believe in…well, anything, really.  But Fate, or Destiny, or whatever the hell else you wanted to call people’s _bizarre_ insistence that life was more than a shitstorm of random events, topped the list.

 

This was what repeated, over and over in her head, as she roamed the large assortment of booths and stands selling fresh produce, her eyes narrowed in search for a vendor who might be selling freshly picked strawberries…

 

And, though she certainly wasn’t going to admit it to _anyone,_ least of all herself…also keeping one eye open for a certain man selling grape-sized tomatoes.

 

She tried to rationalize it to herself – the sooner she got out of here, the sooner she could get back to doing _real_ work, and considering she had absolutely _zero_ idea where to look, a friendly face who could point her in the right direction certainly couldn’t hurt.

 

But the truth was that another part of her, for some utterly unfathomable reason…just kind of wanted to see him again.

 

It was an odd thing, because there really wasn’t anything remarkable about him; nothing remarkable in a _positive_ way, at least, since she was pretty sure she hadn’t met any other guys in the course of scrambling for dropped tomatoes.  But in appearance and demeanor, she couldn’t think of anyone in the world more distinctly “average.”

 

So why the _fuck_ was she still thinking about him?

 

“Strawberries, not tomatoes, dammit!” she exclaimed irritably, only realizing belatedly that she’d said the words out loud.

 

Several onlookers paused to give her a strange glance, but one other voice sounded over them through the crowd.  “Err…I’m sorry?  But…those are all I have…” stated a rather awkward, and quite familiar, voice.

 

Junko flushed crimson as the onlookers moved on, revealing that she’d been thinking all of this not three meters from the booth of Tomohisa Inoue.  He had several crates filled with those tiny tomatoes piled next to him, with a great assortment of prepared samples spread across the booth – whole, sliced, and even made into some kind of salsa.

 

One was speared on a toothpick and being offered in her general direction…though at the sound of her peculiar outburst, his outstretched arm sunk a bit.

 

Attempting to smile, Tomohisa rather lamely raised his hand again, the fruit attempting to slide off its spear as he held it out to her.

 

“It’s, uh…from one of the other boxes.  Like you asked,” he said, swallowing hard.  “Err…unless you’re really _that_ set on strawberries.  Come to think of it, I never even asked if you liked tomatoes…”

 

On impulse, Junko leaned forward and cut off his rambling by biting the tomato off the toothpick.

 

The truth was, she _wasn’t_ a big fan of tomatoes.  Or at least, she hadn’t been… _before_ this moment.

 

“This…is the best fucking tomato I have _ever_ tasted,” she blurted out, her eyes going wide as she chewed and then swallowed.  “How do you do it?”

 

“Oh!  Uh…well, there’s a lot that goes into it,” Tomohisa answered, clearly surprised even to be receiving the question.  “You need to the right soil to make them grow big and juicy like that.  And it’s not exactly easy to get that in Mitakihara, so I import.  Same with the fertilizer – the store-bought kind just _doesn’t_ cut it.  Trust me, I’ve tried.  Luckily, my brother sends me top-quality manure whenever I ask.  He produces it himself!”

 

The glasses-wearing gardener paused here, wondering why Junko’s face had suddenly twisted up…before his brain caught up with his mouth, and he flushed brilliantly.

 

“Oooooh that came out _so_ wrong,” he muttered, scratching his head awkwardly.  “What I _mean_ is, he’s got a farm up near the mountains, and he keeps horses there.  That’s all…”

 

His face became redder and redder with each word…but Junko merely held one hand over her mouth, struggling to hold in a burst of laughter.  And it wasn’t merely a polite chuckle, trying to save his embarrassing slip of the tongue by passing it off as humor.  It was sincere, loud, and unreserved.

 

There was simply something about the _way_ this guy talked.  The blend of knowledgeable confidence and utter, profound _awkwardness_ came together in a manner she couldn’t in any way explain, and yet she couldn’t deny seemed to put her well at-ease.  It wasn’t a feeling she was used to experiencing around near-strangers, _that_ was for sure.

 

It occurred to Junko a couple seconds later that she’d been silent long enough that the poor guy might be getting worried – either that she wasn’t listening, or that she was still disgusted by the “manure” comment and hadn’t appreciated his explanation.

 

To put both concerns to rest, she clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well, it’s clear your nefarious plan to ensnare me with free food has succeeded.  I’ll _definitely_ be coming back for some more of these things.  But…I _really_ need to get those strawberries first.”

 

“Got a craving?” he asked, his posture instantly relaxing at her use of humor.

 

“Well, _someone_ does,” responded Junko with a sigh.  “My boss’ kid.  It’s her birthday today, apparently.”

 

“Ah, I gotcha.  So he’s got you playing errand girl at the last minute,” Tomohisa surmised.  “Well, that’s nice of you.  Every little girl deserves to be treated like a princess on their special day.”

 

Coming out of just about anyone else’s mouth – her own included – there was no way this sentence could’ve been spoken without positively _drowning_ in sarcasm.  Yet his own tone was entirely sincere; it wasn’t hard to tell that he truly _believed_ what he was saying, fully and unironically.

 

It was like he’d jumped off the back of a greeting card.  Except that Junko _hated_ greeting cards with a passion, and he…

 

Well, she didn’t hate _him._

 

“Anyway, if you’re really set on this, I might be able to help you out,” he added after a little while, chuckling nervously.  “I have a friend – Kazuraba – who’s selling them here right now.  I share my extra soil and fertilizer with him sometimes, so he owes me.  Say you’re a friend of mine and he _should_ give you a good deal.”

 

Junko raised an eyebrow, a small smile spreading across her face.  “Does that mean we _are_ friends?” she asked teasingly.

 

“You can never have too many,” was his remarkably quick reply.  His casual, earnest smile matched hers like a mirror.

 

“Hmm…I guess you’ve got a point there,” she said, laughing slightly as he struggled to draw a rough map showing how to get to Kazuraba’s booth.

 

He wasn’t very good at it…but dammit if he didn’t try.

 

[--------------------]

 

Tomohisa hadn’t been kidding when he’d said Kazuraba owed him a favor; one mention of the tomato-grower’s name and the older man had shoved two boxes of his best berries into her hands, completely free of charge.

 

Never one to look a good horse in the mouth – though just to be on the safe side, she’d decided to try one of the strawberries for herself, and found she was having great difficulty _stopping_ at one – Junko hurried off with her prize in hand, politely but forcefully pushing her way through the great throngs of people gathered to sample the organic wares.

 

Part of her wanted to get back to the office immediately…but she felt it’d be rude to leave without at least thanking Tomohisa, so she took a short detour down his aisle on her way back.

 

When she returned to his booth, she found him chatting animatedly with Tohru Shizuki – a high-profile corporate attorney, as well as one of the city’s richest men.  She’d seen him around the Frontier Settings office a couple of times, doing consulting work or reviewing documents, though she was somewhat surprised to see him _here;_ he didn’t exactly seem to be the “buy straight from the farmer” type.

 

Whatever they were discussing, both clearly found it highly amusing.  The two shook hands energetically, after which Tohru wandered off, chortling merrily as he tugged on his long green beard.

 

Tomohisa noticed Junko approaching a moment later, and he waved her over with a smile.  “Did you find everything you needed alright, Kaname-san?” he asked.

 

“Call me Junko,” she corrected him automatically, before she could stop herself; for the most part she disliked being referred to with honorifics, or indeed with any kind of “formal” speech.  It occurred to her a moment later that making such a request of man she’d just met might send… _unintended_ signals, but if Tomohisa found this curious he certainly didn’t show it.

 

Instead, he merely smiled wider and said, “Junko, then.  So…did Kazuraba get you that deal?”

 

Junko visibly relaxed at this, her smile matching his.

 

“Better, actually.  He gave me a whole bunch for free,” she answered, taking them out of her bag to show off the bright red berries.  “Maybe I should be suspicious about that, but right now I’m just giving a big fat thumbs-up to my good luck.  Don’t really get a lot of that, so I’ll take it where I can get it.”

 

“If there’s one thing Kazuraba can be counted on, it’s the quality of his fruit,” Tomohisa told her with a chuckle.  “Can’t trust him to pay gambling debts on time, or drive you to the airport, or return the pruning shears you lent him _eight years ago_ …but he grows some _really_ good berries.”

 

“Oh, tell me about it,” replied Junko.  “I have a friend who’s _exactly_ the same way.  She’s absolutely _brilliant_ when it comes to anything school-related – she’s studying to become a teacher – but you can’t rely on her for _anything_ else.  Oh, sure, she’s got like a thousand of these obscure European authors memorized, but I ask her _one_ fucking time to…err, sorry.  Excuse my language.”

 

Tomohisa just laughed again.  “Don’t apologize,” he said.  “I grew up with two older sisters, and they have _way_ filthier mouths than you do.  The prim-and-proper lady’s a myth I never really bought into.”

 

“Well, _that’s_ refreshing at least!” Junko declared, joining in.  “I mean, you still get a handful from the more traditional families…but most of the girls _I_ know can swear, booze, and make an ass of themselves _just_ as much as any man.  Why do we have to keep pretending otherwise?”

 

“Probably because most of the guys who _do_ like pretending are insecure about their small penises,” responded Tomohisa, only half-jokingly.

 

The fact that he said these words in precisely the same casual, soft-spoken cadence as he’d used previously, however, was too much for Junko to bear, and her laughter intensified as she broke down completely.

 

“God, you’re like…I don’t know what you’re like,” she managed to choke out, still clutching her gut.  “I’m pretty sure I like it, though.  No wonder you had Tohru in stitches.”

 

At this, however, his expression shifted, becoming unexpectedly downcast.  “Tell you the truth, I was mostly just laughing with him to be polite.  He didn’t exactly give me good news just now,” said Tomohisa.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Junko, raising an eyebrow in concern.  “C’mon, tell me.  You’ve listened to me bitch about _my_ problems practically all day.”

 

The gardener sighed deeply.

 

“Basically, me, Kazuraba, and a couple of our other friends were throwing around the idea of…well, opening up an organic produce store together.  Yeah, I know it sounds stupid,” he told her, shaking his head.  “But these farmer’s markets are only a couple times a year, and we _always_ sell out our stock.  We just thought…well, you know…”

 

“Hey, doesn’t sound stupid to me,” Junko stated, doing her best to sound sincere and non-sarcastic.  She wasn’t very good at it.  “I mean, you’ve clearly demonstrated there’s a demand for the product.  Why _not_ give it a shot?  Not like this city’s bursting with other places to get fresh, locally grown food.”

 

“It’s just…a big step, is all,” explained Tomohisa.  “None of us have ever run anything bigger than this stand right here.  And that’s not even getting into raising the start-up capital, drawing up a business plan, finding the right location…”

 

Junko’s attention perked up quite abruptly at those last four words.

 

“So…you’re trying to start up a small business, and you need a place to open it?” she asked slowly.

 

“Pretty much,” said Tomohisa.  “Which is why Shizuki-san was laughing, I’m afraid.  We used to be friends in high school, so I asked if he knew anyone in real estate who might be able to help me.  I guess you can figure out what he thought of it.”

 

“ _That’s_ why he was laughing so hard?  Pretty dickish if you ask me,” Junko replied, making an annoyed sound with her tongue.  “Some friend.”

 

“I did say we _used_ to be friends,” he pointed out.  “But I still don’t think he _meant_ any offense out of it.  He just thinks it’s a silly idea, business-wise.  And I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from.”

 

He looked so morose and down on himself that, instinctively, Junko found her hand closing around his.  She wasn’t really sure why she’d done it…but as long as they were holding hands, she squeezed his, in what she hoped would come across as a comforting gesture.

 

“Well, I say _screw_ that,” she said, her eyes narrowing intensely.  “You’re gonna see this _happen,_ Tomohisa.  And I’ll help.  You stuck your neck out for me today…so now it’s my turn.”

 

And with that, she reached into her pocket, and replaced her hand in his palm with her business card:

 

**JUNKO KANAME**

_Executive Secretary_

**Frontier Settings**

“Mitakihara’s Leader in Commercial Real Estate”

 

Her cell number was hastily scribbled on the back.


	2. To Buy a Fat Pig

“Brilliant!  Absolutely _brilliant!_ ”

 

Junko, for her part, flushed crimson at the praise being lavished upon her by her CEO.  The obligatory “Oh, no, it was nothing” spilled from her mouth – for there was nothing worse for a young professional in Japan, than to be seen as _boastful_ – but privately, she welcomed it, allowing it all to wash over her.

 

After the past several weeks, she felt she deserved _every_ word.

 

The Sea Fragrance file had been everything its reputation had suggested…and _worse._   She hated every single solitary moment she’d spent working on it, with every fiber of her being.  And by god, the _clients_ …

 

It would be… _charitable_ to call Reiji and Eren Azuma “fickle.”  A brother-and-sister pair looking to open their first business together, at least ninety percent of the delays, speedbumps, and general headaches that’d plagued the project came down to their infuriating inability to commit to even a single decision.

 

One day, everything would be going just fine and dandy, both siblings nodding along politely as Junko explained their payment and insurance options – and then the next, one of them would turn around and ask, oh, would it inconvenience her terribly to go _this_ direction instead?  Or perhaps this one?  Hmmm…maybe it would be best to sit and think it over for _another_ goddamn week!

 

And of course, being there to serve (despite it not being even _remotely_ her actual job), Junko had no choice but to grin and bear their idiocy, smiling like a maniac and bowing respectfully as they _constantly_ sabotaged any chance of their own success.

 

Needless to say, the entire process hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park.  It’d taken every last ounce of her patience and goodwill, which weren’t really present in great quantities to begin with, to convince them to sign off on the last few documents and finalize the sale.

 

But, somehow – she still wasn’t entirely sure _what_ it was that’d managed to get through to them – she’d succeeded, and the entire goddamn mess was _finally_ behind her.  It’d taken five grueling weeks of constant, unyielding effort, but it was done.

 

She, Junko Kaname, had _won._

 

“Congratulations, Kaname-san.  Knew you could pull it off,” said another employee, Reichin, clearly not meaning a single word – with the arguable exceptions of _you_ and _it._   “Glad you just _happened_ to be around to salvage things after Yosuke crashed and burned.  What would we do without you?”

 

Junko had to heavily suppress the urge to roll her eyes at his passive-aggressive bullshit, instead simply replying, “Thank you, Reichin-san.  And I’m sure Yosuke-san’s _next_ employer will be perfectly happy with a man who drinks himself into a stupor and curses out his clients for ten minutes straight.”

 

She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her…but while she wasn’t going to rise to his bait, she wasn’t gonna just sit back and take this crap either.

 

The fact that, by this point, she agreed with _everything_ Yosuke had ranted about regarding the Azumas was, of course, irrelevant.

 

“Ah, that reminds me,” President Masaoka added after a little while, as he took yet another drink – around his tenth of the night – from a nearby table, and downed most of it in one gulp.  “Tossing Yosuke out on his lazy ass means we’ve got an open spot available.  Any interest, Junko?”

 

“Oh, err…me?  A full-time real estate agent…?” Junko asked quietly, trying to sound as if she hadn’t been crossing her fingers for precisely that question all evening.  “You…honor me more than I deserve.”

 

On the contrary, she felt that was the _least_ she deserved at this point.  But again, there really wasn’t a way to _say_ that without sounding unduly proud, and possibly screwing the whole thing up as a result.  Even if it was feigned, playing at humility was definitely the smarter call.

 

“You handled that file like a butcher skinning a pig,” said the CEO; presumably, this simile made a bit more sense inside his head.  “It’s pretty clear now we’ve been wasting your talents here, having you make copies and brew my tea.  I can find someone else for that anytime.  What _you’ve_ got is rarer.”

 

“Thank you, sir.  I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations,” Junko replied deferentially, deciding to offer the safe answer as she bowed low.  Once her face was hidden from view, though, she grinned with satisfaction, and pumped one fist triumphantly behind her back.

 

Reichin made a disgusted noise with his tongue, quiet enough that President Masaoka’s aged ears appeared to have missed it.  Junko chose not to respond to this.

 

He was free to think whatever the hell he wanted about her.  She had what _she_ wanted, and any insecure little man-children who couldn’t take seeing her rise up to be their equal could go fuck themselves.

 

After all, what’d Tomohisa said about guys like Yosuke or Reichin?  That they probably just couldn’t take a woman showing them up because they had tiny dicks?

 

It was hardly an original insult, true.  But somehow, coming out of _his_ mouth, it’d…made much more of an impression.

 

Junko was jolted out of these thoughts – probably a good thing, as there were few good reasons to be thinking of her coworkers’ penises at a company gathering – by President Masaoka clearing his throat to speak again.

 

“Anyway, do you remember that proposal you brought to me about a month ago?” he asked her.  “Something about a health food store, I think?”

 

“Err…close enough…” Junko muttered under her breath, deciding there wasn’t much of a point in quibbling over the term “health food.”  In any event, she was more caught off-guard by his bringing up Tomohisa’s plans, _just_ as she was thinking about him.

 

Then again, a small part of her mind noted, it wasn’t like her thinking of him was all that _rare_ these days…

 

Shaking her head to clear away that strange, unbidden thought, she then added, “What about it, Masaoka-sama?”

 

“I brought it in a package with a few others to the board, and they seemed to really like the idea.  I’m making the decision to move forward with it,” the president explained.  “And since you already know the client, I figure you’re the best person to handle this.  What do you think, Junko?”

 

The young woman wasn’t sure _what_ she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.  The board of directors being involved threw her completely for a loop; no doubt they’d be scrutinizing the entire project closely, and doubly so with a “newbie” at the helm.

 

There were a metric ton of ways this whole mess could crash and burn, and Junko couldn’t help but imagine every single one flash right before her eyes.  But ultimately, that didn’t matter.  All the pressure only made her want, to _need,_ to take ownership of this all the more.

 

This was her big chance to really and truly prove herself – to the board, to the company, and to…

 

For some reason, Junko’s inner voice was having some difficulty completing that thought.  _Well…to her new clients,_ her thoughts added belatedly.

 

“I’d be glad to, sir,” she finally said, bowing one more time as Reichin finally just threw up his arms and walked away.  “I look forward to working with _To_ …err, with Inoue-san and his associates.”

 

This, at least, was one-hundred-percent truthful.  Not that she’d necessarily realize that _herself_ for quite some time.

 

[--------------------]

 

In those early days, not counting Junko herself, there’d been four of them involved in bringing the proposed “Wakō Garden” into reality.

 

Kouta Kazuraba was the youngest of the group, fresh out of college and extremely earnest in his ambitions.  He had a distinct talent for growing fruits, strawberries and oranges in particular, as well as just about everything electronic.

 

The internet was in a relatively primitive state back then, but Kazuraba was nothing if not forward-thinking, and made sure they were covered with a well-designed website.

 

Hermann Saltza was, conversely, by far the oldest – a German immigrant in his early fifties, who’d lost his job as an auto mechanic years ago and, failing to find steady work since, had thrown himself completely into his gardening.  His specialty was flowers, and (more relevant to his involvement in the project) various herbs and spices.

 

But he was also handy with a wide variety of tools and construction materials, which helped greatly as they renovated their new establishment.

 

Inaho Miki was an old school friend of Tomohisa’s, and the only member of the group who was already married.  His wife was an airline stewardess, however, meaning he was frequently left alone to manage the house – including their prized home garden, filled with flowers, fruits, _and_ vegetables.  His best products by far, however, were his cucumbers and carrots, which his wife had a _particular_ talent for baking into fantastic cakes whenever she was back in town.

 

And as a journalist, Inaho lent a great deal of expertise to managing ideas for advertising, as well as getting word-of-mouth going throughout the general public.  It didn’t hurt that he could put forward a little start-up capital of his own, as well; his recently passed mother had left him a not-insignificant inheritance, which would be helpful as collateral in pursuing further loans and investments.

 

Finally, of course, that left Tomohisa Inoue himself: at first glance the least assuming of their little “cabal,” yet at the same time, undeniably the glue that held them all together.

 

Born to a family that’d owned a corner convenience store for over thirty years, Tomohisa knew a thing or two about small business…even if he’d never done anything _close_ to management before now.  Still, he’d been stocking shelves and manning registers since he was pint-sized, and a lot of the stuff that tended to trip up first-timers – inventory, payroll, property tax – were matters he either knew intimately, or was a quick study to pick up.

 

It helped that we was remarkably well-connected, too.  Not only was he friendly with the Shizukis, but the even-wealthier Kamijou family as well, whose money and status was rumored to go back to feudal times.  He was even on first-name terms with Senator Tomoe, who represented the greater Mitakihara area in Tokyo, and who was reportedly a favorite to succeed the current Prime Minister.

 

Given his lack of wealth or station, how exactly he struck up all these friendships was something of a mystery.  Perhaps it was as simple as this, however: Junko had never, in _any_ of her time spent with him, noticed someone come away with a bad impression of Tomohisa.

 

He was eminently likeable, in a way she found both mystifying and oddly enviable, always knowing the right thing to say – or at least, improvising _remarkably_ well – and the right time to say it.  Time spent after speaking with him always seemed a little more bearable than it’d been before, and there was no doubt in her mind he had a rare gift to bring people together.

 

Her job, now, was helping that gift shine.

 

Junko did a mental double-take at that stray thought.  A few weeks ago, she’d have gagged at a line so sappy and saccharine.  Clearly, she’d been spending more time around the most positive man on the goddamned Earth than she’d thought.

 

It was also kind of weird she was no longer sure that was such a bad thing.

 

There was no doubt they’d grown… _closer,_ as the project progressed over the past several months.  That was inevitable, to a degree.  The entire process of locating a suitable storefront, arranging the sale, and getting everything finalized was long and protracted, filled with innumerable complications nearly every single day.

 

Which meant, ultimately, that they’d needed to spend a _lot_ of time together.

 

Junko worked with all the Wakō Garden founders at varying levels, but more often than not Tomohisa tended to represent the rest of them in meetings.  Both Kouta and Inaho had day jobs (and in Inaho’s case, a wife to attend to whenever she was back in town), and Hermann was…

 

Well, he wasn’t exactly what one might call “sociable.”  Not a bad guy by any means, but he was poor at small talk and his fluency in Japanese was somewhat lacking, so he tended to keep to himself for the most part.

 

That left Tomohisa, whom Junko got along with _far_ better than she’d been expecting.  Yes, as stated beforehand, he got along well with just about _everyone,_ but it was certainly an unusual event for _her._

 

She didn’t, as a rule, make friends easily.  Even Kazuko had taken some time to grow on her, and she couldn’t think of too many other people she’d ever want to, say, go out drinking with.  Her relationships with all her _other_ school friends had gradually fizzled away over the years, and her coworkers mostly just ranged from casual acquaintances to guys like Reichin, who hated her guts.

 

With Tomohisa, however…

 

“Junko?  Are you alright?” asked the man in question, shocking her from her reverie.

 

It took the young businesswoman a second to realize just where she was right now.  Looking around, it all came flashing back – they were at a ramen place by the name of _Wooser’s,_ and the waitress was standing next to them, patiently awaiting Junko’s order.

 

“Err…I’ll just have the…uh…the special.  I guess?” Junko blurted out, stumbling over her words as her mind played catch-up.  The waitress nodded and bowed low, leaving the two of them alone at a small corner table.

 

“I sure hope the special’s good today,” she said after a little while, leaning back in her chair and cupping her face with her hands.  “I didn’t exactly catch what it _was._ ”

 

“Think it was _tonkatsu,_ ” he informed her, craning his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of a sign in the window to confirm.

 

“Ah, that’s alright then,” Junko replied with a sigh of relief.  “Not exactly my _favorite_ way to prepare pork, but it’ll go well with the ramen here.  Thanks.”

 

Tomohisa, for his part, stared carefully at her for several silent beats before asking, “Is…something the matter?  You seem distracted.”

 

Junko bit her lip.  She wasn’t aware she’d been that obvious.  “I was…just thinking about work, that’s all,” she said, avoiding his gaze.  That was half-true; they’d come to this place for a lunch meeting, as they were approaching a critical filing deadline and every spare moment until then was precious.

 

But then, it was hardly unusual these days for them to have meetings over lunch, or dinner, or tea – or even, on one memorable occasion, big hulking ice cream sundaes.  They hadn’t gotten a whole lot of work that particular day.

 

And _that_ was what she was _really_ thinking about.

 

What’d begun as a work relationship had morphed, without her even realizing it, into…well, into something different.  More and more these days, routine business meetings were turning into excuses to spend time with Tomohisa – to go out, hang out, just be near each other.

 

“Yeah, I know you must be really busy right now…” the tomato-grower responded, now sounding a little guilty.  “Hope asking you over here didn’t disrupt your schedule too much.”

 

“Nah, we needed to go over the files one more time anyway.  Might as well have ramen as long as we do,” she told him, wringing her hands nervously.

 

She knew, acutely well, how all this _looked._   There was a word for a couple of people who repeatedly, _compulsively_ spent so much time together – dining, drinking, chatting and joking and laughing and having trouble parting at the end of the night.

 

And it _wasn’t_ “business associates.”

 

God, but if she didn’t make _friends_ easily, then _this_ was something else altogether.  She’d spoken honestly to Kazuko, back what Junko had trouble believing was only a few months prior: she didn’t “date,” as a rule.

 

Junko was hardly a prude, and most _definitely_ not a virgin, but nearly all her sexual conquests in college had been with one-night stands.  The longest relationship she’d ever experienced had lasted a grand total of three days…and _that_ was just because his car had broken down, and he’d gotten stuck at her place for a bit.

 

It was why she’d been comfortable making that moronic “no men” pact with her best friend – she wasn’t actually giving up anything she already had.  But now, that deal was simultaneously the farthest thing from her mind, and the closest.

 

She didn’t feel _bound_ to it, oh hell no.  Yet it also served as a constant, painful reminder that she had very good reasons _not_ to pursue this.  Whatever “this” was.

 

“You know…” he murmured, looking up from the soda he’d ordered with his meal.  “If there’s anything else bothering you, Junko…you can always talk to me about it.  I mean…err…if you’re comfortable with that.  It’s fine if you’re not, I understand.”

 

God, God, God, _God_ he made this hard.  And again, she wasn’t even certain what “this” was.  But she had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, whatever she was starting to feel in the deepest part of her gut as they spent more and more time together…she rather sort of _liked_ it.

 

And _that_ terrified her more than anything.

 

Dammit, she needed to _focus._   Hadn’t she told Kazuko that the _last_ thing she wanted to do was devolve into some dumbass stereotype?  Well here she was, crushing – fuck, she’d just used that accursed word for the first time – yes, _crushing_ on a man she’d met just a few months ago.  And a _client_ too, as an added fucking bonus!

 

She had her reasons, she reminded herself; _had_ to remind herself.  Reasons she’d thought long and hard about and adhered to for _years._

 

Above all else, she was a career woman, through and through.  She’d resolved herself to that path from a very young age, to do whatever it took to achieve her dreams of strength and independence.  She wasn’t going to rely on _anyone_ anymore, apart from her own skills and intelligence.

 

That was what she’d decided would be her life, when she was a girl.  And every day since had been spent making that wish come true.

 

But she’d had other, similarly minded friends – okay, maybe “friendly acquaintances” was a better term – who had, before her eyes, dropped _all_ their ambitions to become the perfect stereotypical Japanese housewife, after meeting “Mister Right.”  Not all, but enough.

 

And even those women who remained in the workforce always seemed to be looked at… _differently_ after marriage.  She’d seen it at the legal firm Tohru Shizuki worked for.  A female paralegal, who’d once been very prominent in contract negotiation, had been quietly shuffled to a less-public department after she revealed she was with child.  And after she’d taken several months off for pregnancy leave, she’d returned to find that they’d pawned off all her responsibilities to other positions in the interim, effectively eliminating her job.

 

Sometimes she idly wondered, a bit guiltily, whether it was only Kazuko’s utter ineptitude at keeping a boyfriend that kept her from slipping down the same path.

 

Either way, that was _not_ a fate Junko was prepared to accept for herself.  If the only way to earn respect in this world as a strong, independent woman was to remain single, than single she’d be.

 

No boyfriend.  No girlfriend.  No husband or wife.  And _definitely_ no kids.

 

“Junko…?” he repeated again, now looking increasingly concerned over her prolonged silence.  “Did I…err…say something wrong?”

 

Now she was biting her lip again, even harder this time.  The faint taste of her own blood jolted her back to reality – that she’d run out her ability _not_ to answer him.  One way or another, she wasn’t getting out of this without saying _something._

 

But if she didn’t plan out, to the word, exactly _what_ that “something” was going to be beforehand, she was absolutely petrified she’d blurt out precisely the _worst_ possible thing.

 

Like the truth,  for example.

 

Once more, she took a deep breath, willing her brain to consider all this rationally.  _Put aside your opinions on relationships, Junko,_ she told herself.  Because even if…given the absolutely insane idea that she _might_ just…

 

Even _if_ she could maybe…possibly…consider…that she could _want_ …

 

Another deep, bracing breath.  Even _if_ that was true, there was absolutely no guarantee he’d feel the same way.

 

Hell, Junko wasn’t even sure if he was interested in _women,_ much less her specifically.  As a matter of fact, hadn’t he mentioned something about an ex-boyfriend during their last date?  Which was, of course, to say, business meeting.  Business.  Meeting.

 

A brief thought flitted across her mind, that Tomohisa _did_ rather fit a certain… _stereotype_ in that sense.  Then came a sharp pang of guilt, because she _knew_ those stereotypes were bullshit.  Yet it wouldn’t leave her head that many of his traits – his cleanliness, love of cooking, absolute refusal to stare at her legs when it was _so_ easy to – were ones she’d typically associate with either gentlemen or gay men.

 

And there was little question which she thought was in more plentiful supply these days.

 

 _Perhaps,_ said a tiny little corner of her mind, the part that seemed to get irrationally emotional over things she had no business feeling, simply because they related to Tomohisa, _he’s bi?_   Naturally, she’d never asked; never even _considered_ asking.

 

Nevertheless, that stray thought filled her with a stupid amount of hope, the way his initial reference to an ex had, she realized, filled her with a _moronic_ amount of jealously.  Jealousy she, again, had _no business_ feeling.

 

But she did.  Oh fuck, she did.

 

Goddammit.  She _had_ to respond now, within the next few seconds.  She was going to hurt him if she didn’t, she knew somehow.

 

A safe answer.  That’s what she needed, and _fast._   Or…a question.  Yeah, that was the ticket.  She could buy more time with a simple question.  Maybe about how Hermann was doing.  He’d come down with something last week, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

 

Junko opened her mouth to ask the question.  But different parts of her brain were vying for control right now, and they fumbled over each other in a complete mess, so that what came out instead was, “Are you bisexual?”

 

There was no mistaking Tomohisa’s shock and discomfort at this – his eyes went wide behind those square-rimmed glasses, and his mouth hung down so low he practically dislocated his jaw.  But as his cheeks flushed and he averted his eyes, he swallowed and finally said, “Uh…yeah.  I mean, yeah, I am.  But…I…err…well…uh…whydoyouask?”

 

That last string of four words came out as one, mumbled nervously as his cheeks continued to burn so intensely he looked like one of his own prized tomatoes.

 

Junko, for her part, was _mortified._   Here she’d been, sitting there silently like an idiot, grappling with herself to figure out the perfect response…and then she’d just gone and blurted out a question about his sex life from out of fucking _nowhere._

 

She felt embarrassed, for herself.  She felt ashamed, for suddenly putting him on the spot like that.  And…she also felt _ecstatic._

 

It was insane, but there was undeniably a part of her brain that was jumping for joy.  Because that meant that _something_ between them was, well… _possible._   Maybe.  Y’know, if she wanted it.  Which she totally didn’t.

 

Junko sighed inwardly.  What was the point of lying in her own _inner monologue?_

 

Scrambling to keep her voice level, the young realtor scanned the room and reached for an easy lie.

 

“Err…well, it’s just that…you mentioned an ex-boyfriend a while back, right?  But then I thought I saw you checking out our waitress,” she told him, gesturing to the woman in question as she delivered tea to another table.  Junko hadn’t seen anything of the sort, but she _really_ needed to deflect right now.  “I was, uh…just curious, y’know?  But that was probably too personal, I’m sorry…”

 

“Oh no, don’t apologize!” Tomohisa exclaimed, still flushing brilliantly.  And cutely.  Goddammit, since when did the way a person _blushes_ become something that could be attractive?  “Although I wasn’t…I mean, I don’t _think_ I was…”

 

He glanced over at the waitress, just for a second, before snapping his focus back to Junko.  “She seems nice and all, but, umm…she isn’t really my, err, my type,” he continued.  “I mean, that is to say…when it comes to men _or_ women, I’m kinda more into…uh…”

 

Somehow, his blush was actually _deepening._   He almost looked like an anime character now, what with how brightly crimson his cheeks were shining as he buried his face in his hands. 

 

“I…okay, I…never mind.  I don’t have a good way to finish that sentence,” he said after a long pause.  “Can we, uh…please, change the subject…?”

 

“Erm…no, no problem.  Again, I shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” answered Junko, despite the fact that a very loud, _very_ insistent voice in her head was screaming just the opposite.  What’d he been about to say, before the big bundle of awkwardness their whole exchange had devolved into had killed his momentum?

 

Whatever he’d been referring to, it was a trait he found attractive in both men _and_ women, so a great rack or a full package _probably_ didn’t qualify.  That same inner voice piped up again, idly wondering if it could possibly be – _purely_ for example, of course – something like “independent career person” or “likes to wear nice suits,” even though it most certainly wasn’t and _holy shit_ was she over the moon right now.

 

She’d known, going into this totally-not-a-date, that she was into this guy, whether or not she was willing to admit it to herself.  But the last few minutes had just gone to prove _how much_ she’d stupidly, hopelessly _fallen_ for him.

 

And as she’d repeatedly made clear to herself, that was a _problem._

 

Junko was kept from dwelling on that any further by the arrival of their food, looking delicious and _smelling_ even better.  For the moment, hunger drove all other thoughts from both their minds.

 

Somehow, one way or another, Junko managed to get through the rest of the lunch without _too_ much issue.  Halfway through the meal she’d opened up the folder she brought and they’d gone over the paperwork line-by-line, just to make sure they were both on the same page.

 

Besotted like some schoolgirl with a goddamn crush she might be, but Junko was a professional before she was _anything_ else.  She wouldn’t let these newly acknowledged… _feelings_ …get in the way of her client’s best business interests.

 

At least, that’s what she told herself as they parted with a brief, chaste hug, and a pang erupted through her heart as she wished it might last just a few seconds longer.

 

[--------------------]

 

Junko plopped her head down on the bar, allowing the copious amounts of alcohol she’d just consumed to ease her pain.

 

 Kazuko Saotome, for her part, seemed at a loss for how to help her friend; she was rather unused to being on _this_ side of this sort of thing.  Failing to come up with anything better, she awkwardly patted Junko on the shoulder and asked, “Work getting you down?”

 

“In a manner of speakin’…” mumbled the realtor, not raising her head one centimeter but managing to point her arm straight at the bartender anyway.  “Gimme another!”

 

Junko was beginning to slur her words, and Kazuko was beginning to worry a bit.  Her friend was most _definitely_ not a lightweight when it came to alcohol – far from it – but even by _her_ standards she was going overboard tonight.

 

“C’mon, dear, I think you’ve had enough,” she said softly, rubbing Junko across the back of her head.  “And what do you mean by ‘in a manner of speaking’?”

 

As long as she could keep her talking, Junko wasn’t drinking…that was Kazuko’s reasoning, at least.  The barkeep seemed to be thinking something similar, as while he dutifully passed on another shot of whiskey, a much taller glass of water came with it.

 

Surreptitiously, Kazuko made sure to place the latter right next to her friend’s outstretched hand, while keeping the former just out of her reach.  As Junko still was only barely raising her face from the bar surface, this ploy worked, as she grabbed for the nearest beverage without looking and swallowed it all in one gulp.

 

If this thwarting of her quest for more hard liquor bothered the young businesswoman, she didn’t show it, as with her face still firmly planted downward, she began to answer Kazuko’s question.

 

“S’embarrassing, Kazuko.  Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it…” she mumbled into the wood.  “Jus’ leave me alone.  I’m-a call a cab later or whatevs…”

 

While she was hardly the most formal person around, Junko usually didn’t lapse into slang _that_ severe unless she was hammered nearly to the point of unconsciousness.  Now mildly alarmed, Kazuko grabbed for another glass of water and dipped some of it over her friend’s head, while simultaneously shaking her lightly.

 

“Stay with me, Junko.  Keep talking,” she whispered, tipping the rest of the water into the realtor’s unresisting mouth.  “You know you _can_ tell me, right?  Whatever it is, I won’t judge.  I’m about the last person in the world that could.”

 

“You’ll…think I’m stupid…” said Junko, barely audibly.

 

“Trust me, dear.  You could jump head-first into an orgy of crocodiles and I wouldn’t think _you_ were stupid,” replied the teacher-in-training.  “You’re the smartest, prettiest, most talented person I know.  Whatever you’ve got weighing you down, it can’t be _that_ bad.”

 

There was a lengthy, protracted silence – or at least as silent as a fully stocked, overcrowded bar in Mitakihara _could_ be on a Friday night – before, finally, Junko could hear herself let out a low sigh, and feel her head rise up to meet her friend’s determined gaze.  She felt a certain amount of detachment from these motions of her body, as if they were moving autonomously while her conscious brain shut down in a booze-saturated stupor, but she was too tired (mentally, physically, emotionally…take your pick) to stop herself as she began to speak.

 

And speak she did, at length and in detail.  She’d never talked about Tomohisa with _anyone_ before (when _would_ she?), which meant that after more than a month of pure, unadulterated infatuation, her emotional state was roughly comparable to a red-hot pressure cooker.

 

The slightest opening, in short, allowed innumerable weeks’ worth of “steam” to burst forth all at once, providing a seemingly endless stream of stories, anecdotes, and utter nonsense that tumbled from her brain without even the _pretense_ of a filter.

 

Junko talked about the time she’d bitched about having to move some furniture around her apartment and he’d immediately volunteered to help, no questions asked.  She talked about the time her car had broken down in a bad part of town, and he’d dropped absolutely _everything_ at a moment’s notice to pick her up and make sure she was safe.

 

She talked about his murky brown eyes, and his remarkably soft hair, and his small, gentle smile – so kind, so warm, so _genuine._   About his pleasant, calming voice and his _amazing_ cooking.  About how goddamn impressed she was at how hard he was willing to work to make his dream a reality, and how quick a study he was with regard to the world of business savvy.

 

And she talked about the way he made her _feel,_ every fucking minute they were sharing the same space.  How easily they could talk and joke and laugh for _hours,_ with Junko barely even realizing how much time had passed.

 

Finally, after all that was said and done and she was _sure_ Kazuko was bored out of her skull – or at least that she _should_ be, though on the contrary, the other woman seemed more enraptured than ever – Junko talked about all the reasons she’d come up with in her head as to why a relationship between them simply _wasn’t_ possible.

 

She’d started at first by mentioning the deal between them, hoping to cast a bit of the responsibility off herself, but Kazuko just narrowed her eyes and glared at her over her glasses.

 

“I know a lame excuse when I hear one.  I’m studying to be a high school teacher, remember?” she said.  “Besides, even _I_ haven’t been following that silly pact.  Hell, I’ve dated _three_ guys since we agreed to it!  All total jerks without an ounce of sense or class between them which I guess doesn’t really help my case much but…still!”

 

Shaking her head, she leaned forward and demanded, “What’s the real reason?”

 

Junko was caught off-guard by this.  “Well, I…I mean, he’s a client, and…” she began, but Kazuko cut her off.

 

“The _real_ reason,” she continued to press, more forcefully this time.

 

“I don’t even know if he’d be _interested_ in…” Junko sputtered, but again, Kazuko held up a hand.

 

“The… _real_ …reason!” she exclaimed, now drawing some curious glances from onlookers.

 

“I’m _scared,_ okay!” burst out Junko, before she could stop herself.

 

The young realtor was breathing heavily now, her hands clutching at her shoulders, her eyes darting around the room.  Faces snapped back to their drinks or their food as soon as she caught them looking, and Junko found herself clenching her fists as she turned back to Kazuko, who was – for some goddamned reason – _smiling_ like an idiot.

 

“You’re scared…okay,” she said, placing one hand gently over her friend’s.   “Tell me more.”

 

Junko sighed and cast her face downward, taking deep breaths and forcing her racing heartbeat to slow.  Finally, after a full minute of complete silence, she began to speak again.

 

“I’m scared…that things are going to change,” she whispered, every syllable taking a little bit of effort.  “That _I’m_ going to change.  Because that’s what relationships do to people.  Especially women.  Maybe not immediately, maybe only in subtle ways…but it happens.  I’ve seen it.  I don’t wanna lose what I have, what I _am_ …for the sake of something I don’t even know will _work_ …”

 

Kazuko slightly tightened her grip on her hands at this, which Junko knew to be a signal that she wanted to interject.  She fell quiet, and slowly nodded to her best friend, who smiled again.

 

“Look, Junko…I know I’m probably the person in the _least_ position to give you advice about this,” murmured the teacher-in-training.  “But maybe it’s _because_ I’ve screwed this up so much that this’ll mean something.  Because let me tell you: I’ve dated _dozens_ of guys over the years, and not _once_ have I had a look in my eye like _you_ do when you talk about Tomohisa.”

 

Without even thinking about it, Junko found herself breaking eye contact, looking back down at the bar table and flushing.

 

“I may have never met the guy, but what you’re talking about here…it’s clear it’s not just a passing crush or chance at a fling,” she continued, her features set with certainty.  “I think you’ve got an opportunity for something _real_ here, Junko.  And I think you’re gonna spend the next few years kicking yourself if you don’t at least give it a shot.”

 

“I…I just…” said Junko, but her mouth just kept opening and closing after that.  No more words would come.

 

“And if you’re still so frightened by the idea that dating this guy might ‘change’ you…well, ask yourself this,” added Kazuko, her voice now carrying an air of finality.  “Look back on all the time you’ve spent together; all you’ve gotten to know about him. Has he ever once given you any indication that he _wants_ you to change?”

 

The brunette leaned forward once more, but this time for the sake of embracing Junko around the shoulders, holding tightly onto her friend as the corner of her eyes grew misty – though out of _what,_ she wouldn’t have been able to quite articulate.

 

“Because how will you _know_ he’d never accept you, just the way you are…if you never ask?”

 

And with that, Kazuko got up and, in a demonstration of immense and lasting friendship, paid off their rather substantial bar tab.

 

Then she hugged Junko one last time and departed, leaving the realtor alone with one last glass of water…and her own thoughts.


	3. Home Again, Home Again

Strictly speaking, there was no reason for Junko to show up to the grand opening of Wakō Garden.  Their business relationship had ended a few days prior, once the last of the legal matters regarding the actual real estate sale had been resolved.

 

Yet after nearly a year’s worth of toil, it just seemed… _wrong_ not to be here.  To see it all _finally_ come to fruition.

 

Oh, and there was also the fact that she literally _never_ turned down an invitation to spend time with Tomohisa these days, whenever one was offered.  Yeah…that too.

 

That being said, the tomato-grower wasn’t actually _here_ right now.  The other three founders were, all neatly and professionally dressed – Kouta looked _ridiculous_ in a suit and tie – but their valiant leader was running late, with less than an hour to go until the minor press event Inaho had organized.

 

The proximate cause was almost certainly his mother.  The woman had taken rather ill as of late, severely enough that she was unlikely to ever leave the hospital again.

 

His father had long since passed, and his older sister Akane was stuck in America for at least the next few weeks.  As such, it fell to Tomohisa to look after her.

 

[--------------------]

 

Junko had actually gone with him during his last visit to her, for the sake of moral support.  It’d been awkward, needless to say.  She’d never met the woman, hadn’t even seen a _picture_ of her, and yet Junko was going to see her at her very most vulnerable.

 

She certainly hadn’t been what Junko expected.  Despite pushing seventy, Mrs. Inoue wore casual clothes in bright, vibrant colors and sported a rather distinctive nose ring.

 

When they entered the hospital room she was bopping her head back and forth to a pop song on the radio and flipping through a manga volume.  Some kind of horror title, Junko guessed, based on the cover.

 

As soon as they walked into the room, the older woman put down the book and turned down the volume on the radio, her wrinkled face lighting up instantly at the sight of her son.

 

“ _There’s_ my Tomo!” she exclaimed, holding her arms wide in expectation of a hug.  Tomohisa obliged immediately, if very gently.

 

“And who’s this little flower?” asked Mrs. Inoue a few seconds after they’d parted, turning to look at Junko.  She seemed to be sizing her up, and the purple-haired woman suddenly found herself feeling rather self-conscious.

 

“This is Junko, mom,” said Tomohisa.  “She’s…umm…a friend of mine.”

 

A bit nervously, Junko stepped forward to offer the older woman her hand, bowing her head as she did.  Mrs. Inoue returned both with a smile.

 

“A _friend,_ hmm?” she responded, a smirk spreading across her wrinkled face as she stressed the word.  “A friend like Inaho, or a ‘friend’ like Koichiro?”

 

“Mom!” he yelped, instantly sounding as if he was a teenager again.  He was certainly blushing like one.  Not that Junko’s own cheeks were immune; it was obvious what his mother was implying, and she had to vehemently deny the part of herself that wanted an answer to the question.

 

“Oh, come on, Tomo.  I’m only teasing,” Mrs. Inoue added quickly, actually sticking out her tongue toward him for half a second.  “You know how much I love my gossip.  And there’s precious little of it in a place like this.  I’m telling you, if the cancer doesn’t get me soon, the boredom’s _sure_ to.”

 

“D…Don’t even _joke_ about that, mom!  Please!” exclaimed her son, still red-faced.  “I mean, I know things don’t look great _now,_ but…”

 

“I’m going to die, Tomo.  Fairly soon.  There’s no point in denying or trying to dance around it,” she said, her tone remarkably casual.  “I’ve had a long time to come to terms with this, and I made my peace _years_ ago.  We just have to make the most of it.”

 

“I know, I know.  It’s just…it’s hard…” murmured Tomohisa, sitting down and taking his mother’s hand in his.  “Can you tell me what the latest prognosis was?”

 

“Doctor Momoe thinks it could be anywhere from a few months to a few years.  He says it’s hard to tell at this stage,” answered Mrs. Inoue.  “But I do know I’m never gonna get off this respirator, and I’ll admit, _that’s_ kind of scary.  My lungs are completely shot.”

 

She leaned back onto her pillow, chuckling darkly.  “Guess I should’ve laid off those cigarettes sooner,” she whispered, sounding wistful.  “Akane must’ve told me a thousand times, but I never listened.  By the time I finally _did_ quit, the damage was done.”

 

They said nothing more for the next couple of minutes – just Tomohisa sitting in silence, holding his mother’s hand tight.  There were tears in the corners of his eyes, though he wasn’t yet weeping openly.

 

Not for the first time, Junko felt distinctly out of place here.  She had the nagging sense that she was intruding on what really should’ve been a private moment, a side of her “friend” she had no business seeing, and guilt gnawed at her insides for not doing _something_ to comfort them.

 

But what could she do?  She hadn’t even exchanged a single _word_ with Mrs. Inoue yet; she’d been too nervous to.  And she couldn’t even _touch_ Tomohisa these days without her cheeks growing hot and her palms becoming sweaty, which was surely the _last_ thing they needed to see right now.

 

Her indecision was forcibly put to rest, however, as the older woman eventually turned back to her and asked, “So, Junko…why don’t you tell me about yourself?  I _can_ call you Junko, I hope.”

 

“Oh!  Uh…of course…” stammered the realtor, rapidly trying to compose her thoughts.  “There’s, err…really not much to tell, though.  My name’s Junko Kaname.  I work at _Frontier Settings_ as a real estate agent.  I, uh…met your son while I was helping him find property for his business.  And…that’s about it, I guess?”

 

She decided to skip what was technically their _first_ meeting, tomatoes spilt across the pavement and all.  It might make for a better story, but one that was a bit harder to speak of in a purely professional sense.

 

Which was totally what this conversation was going to be.  Purely professional.

 

“Oh, there’s got to be _much_ more to you than just your job, dear,” said Mrs. Inoue, straightening herself up in her bed as she did.  “Although it doesn’t surprise me you’d open with that.  My Tomo always _did_ like the working girls.  And guys.  What’s the word for a fetish for business suits?”

 

She took one look at the expressions spreading across _both_ their faces, and quickly added, “Okay, I’ll admit, that one was a _little_ far.  I’ll dial it back, hon.”

 

Junko, for her part, was experiencing two separate reactions to this inside her head.  The first was absolutely mortified, and wishing desperately that she was _anywhere_ but here.

 

The other sounded something like:

 

 _Oh god oh god he likes my suits I should never ever wear anything else again okay I_ already _never ever wear anything else but screw that the point is he likes me he likes me he_ likes _me!_

 

She briefly envisioned the first voice taking the second out onto the street and beating it senseless.  That calmed her down a bit.

 

“Anyway, you said your company’s name is _Frontier Settings?_   I think I’ve heard of them before,” Mrs. Inoue spoke back up after a little while, once both Junko’s and Tomohisa’s faces had returned to their regular shades.  “Do you know a Koji Masaoka?”

 

“He’s my boss,” replied Junko, surprised to hear the name.  “Do _you_ know him?”  


The older woman smirked.  “Quite well, once upon a time.  We used to…ahem… _date,_ ” she told her, winking emphatically at the final word.

 

Junko had never, in her life, met someone of Mrs. Inoue’s generation so comfortable openly discussing such… _issues._   Not that she had a problem with it, necessarily, but it was _damn_ weird.

 

Instead of saying that, though, the purple-haired woman muttered, “Small world, I guess…”

 

“That it is, dear.  When you get to be my age, you come to realize the world’s a _lot_ smaller than we ever give it credit for.  At least in the ways that count,” said Mrs. Inoue, patting her lightly on the arm.  “So tell me, how’s Koji doing these days?  We haven’t seen each other in _ages._   Not since before I met Tomo’s dad.”

 

“Oh, he’s doing pretty well,” Junko answered.  “He got appointed CEO about ten years ago, and the board’s seen record profits since.  Married with two kids – a son in college and a young daughter.”

 

“Does he still golf?” asked the older woman.  “Heaven knows, he used to be _obsessed_ when we were together.”

 

“Not as much as he used to.  But he usually gets out once every week or two,” stated Junko.  “At least he’s getting better at it, he was absolutely _awful_ when I started working for him.”

 

“Oh, I hear _that._   Thought my jaw would dislocate from smiling awkwardly whenever he got a triple-bogey,” Mrs. Inoue recalled, smiling warmly at the memory.

 

The two women had a good, long laugh at this, and Tomohisa joined in once Junko felt compelled to relate a slightly off-color story of President Masaoka’s last, ill-fated golf game with an American business partner.

 

The words “golf cart pileup” came up in it far more than one might expect.

 

Junko typically was absolute crap at small-talk, but around this woman she somehow found it almost effortless.  That was helpful, because these days she tended to get rather tongue-tied when left alone with her son.  She was sure he’d noticed it, though she very much doubted that he knew why.

 

Or at least…she _hoped_ he didn’t.

 

In any event, they spent nearly two hours together in that hospital room, chatting amicably about food and movies and Tomohisa’s _very_ most embarrassing childhood stories.  They were having such a good time that they had to check the clock in disbelief, when a nurse walked in to inform them visiting hours would be over in fifteen minutes.

 

“My, my.  We must’ve just lost track of time, I suppose,” said Mrs. Inoue.  “Tomo, would you mind stepping out for a few minutes?  With Akane overseas I so rarely get a chance for gal-talk these days.”

 

“Uhh…sure, mom.  I, err…guess that makes sense…” mumbled Tomohisa, though it was clear he wasn’t sure what to make of her request.  Still, he dutifully bowed his way out into the hall. 

 

She heard him begin to strike up a conversation with the nurse about the meals here, and whether they were providing his mother with adequate fiber, as the door closed, and Junko found herself suppressing a chuckle.  _Classic_ Tomohisa.

 

When she turned back to the older woman, however, the smile faded from her lips.  Mrs. Inoue looked surprisingly somber, as she whispered, “Junko, dear.  Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

 

“Erm…sure, I suppose?” responded Junko, her brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Your own mother…could you tell me about her?” she asked in a quiet voice.

 

Junko’s own face immediately fell.  She wasn’t sure _what_ she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

 

This was _not_ a subject she liked bringing up much.  Not even Kazuko knew more than just the very basics.  But…Mrs. Inoue had certainly been forthcoming with _her_ so far, hadn’t she?  Even shared a few rather grisly details of her battle with post-partum depression, shortly after Tomohisa was born.  Maybe she was owed the same.

 

Besides…well, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought to have, but she was unlikely to ever see this woman again.  Was there really any harm in opening up?

 

“I never knew my mom,” she said, shaking her head.  “Complications in childbirth…I never really understood the medical details.  But basically, my dad was put in a position where he had to make a choice.  He…chose me.”

 

Junko took a deep breath, steeling herself.  “I didn’t really ‘get’ it then, but making that choice destroyed him,” she continued to explain.  “The fact was, if one of us hadn’t died, _both_ of us would have.  He _knew_ that.  But that didn’t change how he felt.  All that mattered, for him, was that he’d signed off on killing the love of his life.”

 

“Oh, you poor dear,” Mrs. Inoue murmured softly, placing one wrinkled hand over hers.  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.  You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.”

 

“No…No, it’s fine,” replied Junko with a sigh.  “I’ve had a lifetime to deal with this, after all.  I just wish I’d understood _why_ my dad was so broken, back when I was a kid.  He _tried_ to be a good father, he really did.  But his heart wasn’t in it.  He dived into his work to try and cope, to distract himself, and wound up with severe pneumonia for his troubles.  Died when I was seven.”

 

“Did you have anybody else?  Grandparents, siblings, aunts or uncles?” asked Mrs. Inoue, as small tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes.  Belatedly, Junko realized there were some in hers as well.

 

“No one,” said Junko, and it suddenly hit her how _true_ that was.  She tried to dab at her eyes with her sleeve, before the tears could start running down her cheeks.  “I went to an orphanage for a little while.  It was…nice, for what it was.  They were good people.  Then boarding school for several years, then college.  I’ve lived on my own ever since.”

 

“I see…” the older woman stated in a very quiet voice, before suddenly pulling Junko into a surprisingly powerful hug.  It was the first hug she’d received in a long, _long_ time, and while Junko was surprised she didn’t fight it.

 

It felt good.

 

“Alright, honey.  I don’t know if this will help, but I’m going to push forward anyway,” she added after a lengthy silence, as the two of them slowly parted.  “The reason why I brought this up…the reason why I wanted a few minutes alone with you.  I’ve been watching all this time, and I…I’ve seen how you look at Tomo.  How you interact with him.  How _he_ interacts with you.”

 

Mrs. Inoue took a steadying breath, and finally finished, “I guess I’ll just come out and say it.  You’re in love with my son, aren’t you?”

 

If this were a cartoon, Junko was quite certain her mouth would’ve dropped half the length of her body right then and there.  She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, and had more than a bit of trouble finding her voice in the aftermath.

 

To have just been discussing something so deeply _personal,_ that made her vulnerable in a way she’d always resolved _never_ to feel again…and then for _this_ to hit her right after?

 

She wanted to deny it.  She was ready to, on the edge of declaring emphatically that Mrs. Inoue was mistaken…but the words simply wouldn’t come.  Just like with Kazuko, she was just so damn _tired_ of lying about the way she felt, day-in and day-out.  Even if it wasn’t always with words.

 

And just like then, in the absence of the energy to come up with a believable denial, the truth slipped out instead.

 

“Was I…that obvious…?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

 

For a second, she thought perhaps Mrs. Inoue hadn’t heard her – that she still had room to take it back, pretend she hadn’t said anything.  But the older woman was losing her lungs, not her hearing, and she smiled a warm, patient smile.

 

“If you’re worried about Tomo figuring it out, don’t bother.  Bless that boy, but he’s thick as a pig sometimes,” said Mrs. Inoue.  “At least on matters like these.  I don’t know how he can be so damn perceptive when it comes to things like gardening or cooking, and _still_ be able to miss when love is pretty much literally dancing in front of him.”

 

“Well, I…I don’t think I’d really call it _love,_ ” Junko tried to protest, a very small amount of her courage leaking back in.  “I mean, that’s going a _bit_ far.  I just…I like him.  A lot.  More than I can remember liking anyone.  But…But that’s not _love._   Err…is it?”

 

Those last couple words were added belatedly, with an air of nervous hopefulness.

 

“It could be.  But you’re right, no need to rush something as heavy as the ‘L’ word,” answered Mrs. Inoue, her head bowed in admission of the point.  “Still, I want you to know something.  Tomo hasn’t had a _lot_ of partners, but I’ve known most of them.  Two guys and another girl.  And let me tell you this, Junko dear: he _never_ looked at them the same way he looks at you.”

 

At this, Junko found herself chuckling breathlessly, though there was no humor in it.  “Come on, that’s…that’s not true,” she insisted, more to convince herself than anyone else.  “He doesn’t…I mean, he couldn’t _possibly_ …”

 

“Think what you like, dear.  But I’m telling you the truth,” said Mrs. Inoue, her arms crossed as she regarded the younger woman coolly.  “And that’s why I was asking you about your own mother.  Because…well, I got the sense you’d never had someone to just _talk_ with, about this sort of thing.  So feel free, as long as we’re here.  I’m open to listening – to _whatever_ you want to say.”

 

Junko hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment; damn her, she was just making too much _sense_ to argue with.  And so the words started spilling out.

 

It was, largely, a version of what she’d said to Kazuko several months prior – albeit somewhat heavily abridged, since they’d already run out the “few minutes” she’d requested from her son.  The story of their meeting, the friendship and professional relationship that’d blossomed after that day at the farmer’s market…and the steady growth of a deep, yearning, _burning_ desire for a very different _kind_ of relationship in the weeks that followed.

 

More than once, her eyes flitted anxiously to the door, suddenly wondering with alarm whether the walls in here were soundproof.  She had to mentally remind herself that Tomohisa was hardly the type of person to eavesdrop at doors – he was almost _disturbingly_ moral – and in any event the hospital staff likely wouldn’t let someone just stand there with their ear pressed to the wall.

 

Finally, once she was sure she’d bared enough of her soul for a few dozen lifetimes, Junko found herself falling back into silence, looking at the older woman expectantly.

 

Mrs. Inoue had more of a point than she was willing to admit.  It’d been _so_ long, long enough that Junko could barely even remember it, since she’d been in a position where she’d had someone older willing to just _listen_ to her problems.  In a sense, she _never_ really had.

 

In the absence of anything resembling a parent, she’d been forced to grow up early, in _every_ conceivable way.  Maturity meant self-reliance.  It meant independence.  And it meant never letting _anyone_ see her vulnerable.

 

But now?  It was a bit delusional to expect it, really.  Yet Junko couldn’t help it.  Part of her really, _truly_ wanted Mrs. Inoue to say something that would magically make this all better; that would make it all make _sense._   It was an impossible wish, but she wanted it anyway.

 

Because in her heart of hearts, she imagined that’s what it would be like to have a mother.

 

The elderly woman, for her part, had listened to all this in stoic, supportive silence.  When she finally spoke again, it was in a soft, kind voice that reminded Junko of…well, _herself,_ at her very most obsequious.

 

The main difference being that she could tell _these_ words were actually meant with the utmost sincerity.

 

“I won’t try to push you in one direction or another, dear.  This is all _your_ decision, and yours alone,” she told Junko, leaning forward slightly in her hospital bed.  “Mind, cliché as it is, I can’t deny I’ve got that ‘give me grandchildren!’ urge somewhere in the back of my brain, and until the politicians get their heads out their asses it’s not like Akane and _her_ girlfriend will be doing much on _that_ score…but that’s beside the point.  Even if you hooked up in the next ten minutes, the likelihood of me surviving to your wedding day is pretty low.”

 

Mrs. Inoue had herself a grim little chuckle at this, though Junko didn’t really see anything funny about it.

 

“Look, hon…when you get to be my age, you look back and you see a lot of regrets.  It’s pretty much inevitable,” she continued after a little while, looking suddenly very distant.  “And when you do, there’s a lot less ‘I wish I didn’t do _that_ ’ than you might think.  No, it’s the ‘I didn’t do that…and I wish I _did_ ’ moments.  They’re the ones that stick with you.  The ones you’ll remember until the day you die.”

 

She sighed, and then looked Junko straight in the eyes, her stare incredibly intense despite her physical frailty.

 

“So that leaves just one question, Junko,” she said, her tone kind but firm.  “Do you _really_ want Tomo to be one of _those_ memories?”

 

[--------------------]

 

“Kaname-san?  Kaname-san, are you alright?” asked Kouta Kazuraba, snapping her out of her reminiscence.  Shaking her head, she checked her watch to see how long she’d been zoned out. 

 

They were five minutes away from the opening ceremonies, and Tomohisa was _still_ nowhere in sight.

 

“Err…I’m fine, Kouta,” she told the young man airily.  “Just…worrying about Tomohisa.  Do you guys know enough to start without him?”

 

“I mean, I wrote the press brief, so I _guess_ I could give it a shot.  But I’m not exactly the…err…best public speaker,” said Inaho Miki, pulling anxiously at his short, blue beard.  “That was always Tomohisa’s thing.  Nervous as I am right now, put me up there and you’ll have a stuttering, sweating mess.”

 

Hermann Saltza nodded, looking grim.  Unspoken was the fact that he’d be an even poorer choice, given his lack of fluency in Japanese.  And as for Kouta, well…

 

He was a good kid.  And bright, and friendly.  But he also had multiple facial tattoos and hair spiked up like he was the protagonist of a shounen manga.  In short, _not_ the best “face” to put on their public debut.

 

After a few moments of increasingly uncomfortable silence, multiple hopeful eyes fell on hers, silently pleading.  She recognized what they were getting at immediately, and raised her hands in alarm.

 

“Oh, no!” was her whispered exclamation.  “I don’t even…I’m just here as a friend!  I can’t represent you to the press, I don’t even _work_ here!”

 

“We know this, Frau Kaname,” stated Hermann, in that surprisingly soft but heavily accented voice of his.  “But we have…worked well together, _ja?_   You are…like sister to us.”

 

“Well, to _most_ of us,” Kouta muttered as an aside, unable to keep from snickering.  Inaho elbowed him in the ribs, however, and he quieted down.

 

Junko tried very hard not to read too much into this.

 

“I mean, I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong,” she said after a moment’s pause, belatedly realizing her words might’ve sounded a bit harsher than she’d intended them.  “But this is a small-time, corner market sort of business.  That’s a big part of your appeal.  People need to get used to seeing _your_ faces.  Not a lawyer or spokesman…and yeah, _definitely_ not your real estate agent.  Hell, I might be violating some of my _own_ company’s policies if I did it.  I dunno, I’ve never had to check that kind of thing.”

 

“Yeah, she’s right, guys,” added Inaho, shaking his head.  “We shouldn’t have even asked.  So suck it up, we’ll be on in a couple minutes.  Whether we like it or not.”

 

“Wait, hold up!” Kouta interjected, pointing to a beat-up green car pulling into the nearby parking lot.  “Speak of the Devil, folks.”

 

Leaving the rest of them at the little makeshift podium Hermann had set up in front of the store, Inaho moved to intercept his best friend, looking incensed.  “Where the _hell_ have you…?” he began, but his voice died in his throat as he saw the puffy look of Tomohisa’s eyes, and the streaks of dried tears that matted his cheeks.

 

“Oh god.  Don’t tell me…” murmured Junko, her eyes going wide as she jogged up to join them as well.

 

“It was an infection.  They said by the time they caught it, it was too late,” Tomohisa managed to choke out, not meeting their eyes.  “She passed suddenly, in her sleep, which is…it’s good, I guess.  I mean, she wasn’t in any pain when it happened.  But I never…I never got to…”

 

The tears started up again, and without thinking, without even _considering_ the fact that all of Tomohisa’s business partners and several of the assembled journalists had turned to watch the scene in the parking lot unfold (though mercifully, at least none of them had been callous enough to swivel their cameras this way), Junko rushed forward to hold him tight.

 

He melted into the hug almost immediately, surprising her.  Against her will, she felt a wave of heat travel up her body as they pressed against each other, though Junko quickly clamped down on it.  This was _not_ the time, and she burned with shame at the idea she could be deriving any level of pleasure from his grief.

 

Still, Inaho was averting his eyes, and when they released each other she was relieved to see the press had turned away as well.  It showed a level of restraint she hadn’t been expecting.

 

As they parted, Tomohisa could only bring himself to speak a single phrase: a whispered, “…Thank you.”

 

Junko, for her part, had no idea what to say to this – what on Earth _could_ she say? – but was spared the need as Inaho cleared his throat.

 

“Err…Tomohisa.  I can…I can cancel the event, if you want,” he said.  “Nobody would blame you.  Not in circumstances like these.”

 

The brunette, however, had removed his glasses and was wiping his face with his sleeve, leaving an expression that betrayed none of his pain.

 

“No, I’ll do this,” he told his friend, his face set in determination.  “It’s what mom would want.  We’re seeing this through to the end.”

 

[--------------------]

 

The press event opened with two separate convocations, which mercifully allowed a little bit more time for Junko and the rest of the “gang” to silently comfort their friend.

 

The Shinto priest blessing the new storefront was standard and expected, with few surprises; Junko knew, having worked with Inaho to book him, that he did these sorts of things an average of twice a day.

 

Nonetheless, she participated dutifully off on the sidelines.  She’d never been especially religious or spiritual, but this was clearly important to both Inaho and, surprisingly, Kouta as well.

 

A little more unusual was the Christian priest they’d managed to hire from Kazamino City, largely as a surprise for Hermann.  Their German colleague was a devout Protestant, though he tended to practice at home due to his nervousness in crowds.

 

Still, everything Junko had learned about Father Sakura indicated to her he was a fairly open-minded man of the cloth, and indeed he took his being used in concert with a Shintoist in remarkable stride, shaking hands and offering a gift basket to the man afterward.

 

“Faith _must_ adapt to the world around it, or it loses all its meaning to the common man,” she heard him saying in passing, and she could see Hermann hanging on his every word.  “Whether it be in the face of other faiths, no more or less worthy than my own, or simply to changes in society and technology.  Scripture is the basis of a good life, but it cannot be the _sole_ point of it.  Otherwise it becomes stagnant and frail.”

 

“Unusual words…for a man of God,” Hermann replied, not disapprovingly.

 

Father Sakura clapped the older man on the shoulder and smiled.  “True.  But perhaps one day, they won’t be _so_ unusual,” he declared in a cheerful voice, letting those be his last words before heading off.

 

After both priests had departed, however, it was finally time for Tomohisa’s speech.  On impulse, and against her better judgment, Junko took one hand in his and squeezed.

 

“You’re gonna do great.  I know it,” she whispered.

 

“No need to make it too long or flashy.  Stick to the script, and it’ll be over before you know it.  We all believe in you,” added Inaho, and both Kouta and Hermann nodded their agreement.

 

“Thanks, guys.  That…means a lot,” he said quietly – but though his words were directed to all of them, Junko couldn’t help noticing he was staring at her alone when he spoke them.

 

Or maybe that was just her besotted mind playing tricks on her.  Yeah, probably that last thing.

 

In any event, he moved up to the podium, and waved genially to the small crowd of journalists, organic aficionados, and various other people who’d just walked over to see what the commotion was about.  Then he cleared his throat, and started to speak.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming,” Tomohisa began, his voice even and confident despite his obvious nervousness.  “The opening of Wakō Garden means a lot to all of us here.  It represents a commitment by the Mitakihara community to provide each other with healthy, locally grown, organic produce – not just once or twice a year, but every single day.  Everyone deserves the chance to feed their families with the best ingredients in Japan, and we’re all here to give them that chance.”

 

He then gestured for his partners to step forward, which they did, leaving Junko alone off to the side.  She tried to smile encouragingly, and he returned it…which made her avert her eyes and blush quite fiercely.

 

Goddammit.  Since when did she turn into some high school girl in a shoujo anime?

 

“To start off, I want to introduce you all to the full Wakō Garden team,” he went on, once they were all lined up together.  “I’m Tomohisa Inoue, and this is Inaho Miki, Hermann Saltza, and Kouta Kazuraba.  Together, we’re here to serve everyone here in Mitakihara with the freshest fruits, vegetables, herbs and spices, and rice that money can buy.  And we’re not gonna stop there.  But first, I’d like to thank a few other people for all they’ve done to help make our dream a reality.”

 

Junko’s attention perked up sharply.  Surely he wasn’t going to…

 

“First of all, to my mother, father, and sister, who taught me everything I know about running a business.  To my mom, especially…who I know would be smiling if she could see me right now,” said Tomohisa, sniffing slightly as he mentioned her.  Besides that, however, he gave no indication of how raw a wound this must’ve still been for him.

 

“And of course, to Tohru Shizuki, as well as Jiro and Kikko Kamijou, for the generous donations they provided to help us put all this together,” he added after a moment, gesturing to the three financiers in question – all of whom were sitting at the front of the crowd and smiling pleasantly. 

 

Junko was mildly surprised to see Tohru there, after how harshly he’d laughed off the idea all those months ago.  Clearly, he’d changed his mind.  Or perhaps the involvement of the Kamijous had changed his mind _for_ him; the Shizukis were rich, yes, but the Kamijous were _stupid_ rich, and the rest of Mitakihara’s “old money” tended to follow theirs.

 

“Similarly, many thanks to Senator Emiya Tomoe, who took time out of her busy campaign schedule to help promote awareness of our grand opening.  Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make it today, but we’ll be sure to save her the biggest, heaviest gift basket we can find when she _does_ come to visit,” Tomohisa told the crowd, eliciting some light laughter.

 

Junko was beginning to realize what he was doing.  By expressing gratitude toward all these big names in his speech, Tomohisa – or perhaps more accurately, Inaho, who she reminded herself had written most of these words – was subtly influencing the audience to associate Wakō Garden with their success.

 

On a purely mercenary level, it was quite an impressive strategy.  Of course, Junko tended to operate on a purely mercenary level herself, so she didn’t exactly have a problem with it.

 

She was getting deep enough into analyzing his technique that she barely noticed when he said her name.

 

“And finally, there’s one person I’d like to thank most of all.  A person who went above and beyond the duties of her job, and did everything she could to make certain Wakō Garden would be a success for years to come,” said Tomohisa.  “Without her…none of us would be standing here today.  So please, if you’d all do me the honor of letting me introduce: Junko Kaname.”

 

To say that Junko was blushing would be an understatement on the order of saying the ocean was wet, or that Kazuko had just a _bit_ of trouble with the male sex.  She hoped he hadn’t noticed, but realistically he’d have to have been blind _not_ to.

 

Still, she couldn’t help glaring at him accusingly as she walked up to join the others, somewhat resentful that he’d just put her in this position.  Well…perhaps “resentful” wasn’t the right word.  But she’d still prefer not to be up here.  Or anywhere near here.

 

Or on the same planet.

 

Tomohisa seemed to pick up on her discomfort, and as she awkwardly waved to the small crowd, he whispered, “Sorry, that part wasn’t in Inaho’s speech.  You don’t need to same anything to them, or whatever.  I just…I thought you deserved to get a little applause today.”

 

She turned her head and watched on, as all the gathered individuals dutifully clapped for her.

 

 _Fuck,_ it honestly _did_ feel good.  Which made getting mad at him rather difficult, despite how fully, wholly, entirely 100%-justified she would’ve been in doing so.

 

“Thank you.  Really, _truly,_ thank you,” he continued to tell her in a low voice, soft enough that even the other founders could barely hear.  “Anyone else in your position would’ve found us the listing, then ran.  But not you.  You stayed at our side all the time, and made sure everything would work out.  I’ll never be able to repay you enough.”

 

Then he turned back to the crowd, to continue his speech, and Junko felt the sudden return of her burning cheeks, even more pronounced now than before.

 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck._

 

[--------------------]

 

Not much else of note took place across the rest of the event.  There were a few photo ops, and several other matters of ceremony.  Tomohisa gave a short interview for local access television, and at the conclusion of the whole thing, everyone present was invited to try some free samples of their best produce.

 

Junko had wasted no time in going straight for the tomatoes.

 

Eventually, however, the ceremonies came to an end, and only the four founders and Junko were left behind to clean things up.  Strictly speaking, she didn’t _need_ to help out here, but it was the professional thing to do.

 

Yep.  Right.  _Professional._

 

(Who the hell was she kidding?)

 

Inaho had needed to depart about half-an-hour prior, to pick up his wife at the airport.  Meanwhile, Hermann was leading Kouta in the disassembly of the podium and improvised stage they’d set up in front of the shop.

 

That left Tomohisa and Junko to tidy up the inside of Wakō Garden, which looked approximately how you might expect when you invite in a crowd of fifty to grab some free food, alone.  Together.

 

Which was awkward.

 

Nothing displeased her more than how acutely aware she was of the distance between them.  The crush had started out small, nearly harmless, but months of bottling everything in had, if anything, only _amplified_ those feelings.

 

Now she could barely look at him, barely _speak_ to him, without butterflies erupting in her stomach.  She spent every second that they picked up trash and pushed brooms around the store trying _very_ hard not to brush up against him, even slightly – which wasn’t easy, as Wakō Garden wasn’t very large.  In her current state, she might actually squeal if they touched.

 

And she _hated_ feeling that way.  Even more than she usually did.  She felt guilty, and ashamed, because he was clearly hurting right now and what he needed _wasn’t_ some stupid little girl with a crush.

 

Junko had to remind herself: she was his business partner (or _was,_ at least), and more to the point, she was his friend.

 

Which _was_ what he needed now, goddammit.

 

“Are you…feeling alright…?” she asked tentatively, not making eye contact as she strained to grab a wrapper with some tongs.  Irony upon ironies, someone had brought a pre-packaged, 100%-artificially flavored fruit snack to the opening of an organic produce store.

 

After several minutes of silence, these words caused Tomohisa to jump a bit, though he recovered quickly.  Still, he didn’t meet her eyes either.

 

“About mom, you mean?  No…No, I’m not,” he said.  “I was okay as long as I had other stuff distracting me, but now it’s…well, it’s a lot harder.  But I’ll deal with it.  I don’t want to be a burden to the rest of the guys, and I don’t want to be a burden to you.  Not now that we’re taking all these new steps.”

 

“Tomo…err, Tomohisa.  Come on.  If there’s _anyone_ in the world who can justify leaning on his friends a little bit, it’s you,” she replied, hastily correcting her term of address as she did.  Since that conversation with the late Mrs. Inoue, she’d taken to calling him “Tomo” in her head more often than not.

 

Which, for obvious reasons, would’ve been a colossally _stupid_ blunder right about now.

 

“I…I _know_ you’re right about that.  But it still isn’t easy,” he told her quietly.  “I mean, Inaho’s my best friend, I know he’d go to bat for me anytime, but we just don’t… _talk,_ about this kind of thing.  Kouta and Hermann even less so.  We talk about the store, and gardening tips, and baseball, and that new _Gundam_ movie coming out soon.”

 

Before she could stop herself, Junko found herself whispering, “You know, you can talk with _me_ about anything.”

 

At this, he surprised her by turning toward her position, though with his eyes closed and his chin lowered.

 

“Yeah, I…I _do_ know that,” he said.  “I don’t know _why,_ but with you I…no, that’s not true.  I _do_ know why.  But this isn’t the time.  This isn’t the place.  I mean, I shouldn’t even… _we_ shouldn’t, I…”

 

“ _Talk_ to me, Tomohisa,” she responded, again finding it almost as if her mouth was working on autopilot.  “Your mom just _died,_ this is a time it’s _okay_ to be vulnerable.  To open up a bit.  And I know it makes me look like a goddamn hypocrite to say that, but you’re a better person than I am on that score.  So let me _in._ ”

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you!” he exclaimed in hushed tones.  “Please, it’s _definitely_ not that.  You’ve become closer to me, gotten to _know_ me, better than I ever thought I…but, wait, there I go again.  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.  If I just start unloading, I’m _sure_ I’ll say something I can’t take back.”

 

“I don’t _care,_ dammit!  Just _tell_ me!  Tell me what’s going through your mind right now so I can fucking help you _through_ it!” she yelled out, shocked at how strongly she suddenly felt about this.

 

This was more than just her intense attraction to him talking.  Deep down, right now, she couldn’t feel _anything_ but a burning desire to hold him, to let him know things would be alright.  That she would protect him in moments like this, if he was willing to do the same to her.

  
“I can’t, okay?  This isn’t…I mean, this _shouldn’t_ be…!” he breathed out, and suddenly she became acutely aware that they’d almost completely closed the distance between them without thinking about it.

 

“You _can!_   And it _should!_   Whatever it is, I’m _here,_ and I’m _not_ going away!” shouted Junko, feeling an acute heat spreading through her that only partially had to do with their raised voices.  “So why the fucking _hell_ won’t you…?!”

 

“ _Because I’m in love with you!_ ” were the words that finally escaped his lips, instantly causing her own to die to silence.

 

Those six words seemed to reverberate throughout the otherwise empty storefront, and Junko backed away a step, stunned.  She had to blink a few times, through hot tears she hadn’t even realized were there, before her brain could even begin to process what she’d just heard.

 

“That’s… _That’s_ why.  Because I’m in love with you,” said Tomohisa, his voice hoarse and throaty.  “At least, I…I think so.  I’ve never said those words to someone outside my family before.  But I mean them, I do.  I just…I didn’t want it to come out _this_ way.  Not right now, when you…I mean, when I…”

 

Seeing the expression on her face (what _was_ the expression on her face?  She couldn’t tell…), he looked positively distraught, exasperated – as if he’d been dreaming of this moment for as long as she had, and he was certain it’d all gone horribly, _horribly_ wrong.

 

“Look, _please_ don’t think I…that I said that to make you feel…I dunno, guilty, or something,” he continued to sputter.  “You’ve been so good to me, and so special and wonderful and _fuck,_ I’m not good at this!  But I’ve been trying to work up the courage for months and I just _couldn’t,_ and now mom’s gone, and this place is finally taking off and oh god oh god oh _god_ I’m just rambling…!”

 

She cut him off right there.  By crashing her lips into his.

 

In her life, apart from her father, Junko Kaname had kissed precisely five other members of the opposite sex.  Now she was beginning to think she needed to invent a new word, because to group those moments together with this one as mere “kisses,” as if they were _remotely_ on the same level, was a crime of indescribable proportions.

 

Waves of building, pulsating _heat_ flowed up her body, up through her stomach and chest and outward through her lips, so intense and so amazing and so utterly, utterly _right._   Her body working on autopilot, her conscious mind barely a whisper, she _melted_ into the contours of his body, and after the initial moment of shocked surprise, she felt him match her in kind.

 

The feeling of being with him, like this – oh god, it sounded cliché as fuck, but it felt like a goddamn _dream._   His thin but well-toned frame, developed through years of quiet, consistent work in yards and fields, pressed firmly against hers, and she delighted in teasing him as her breasts rubbed softly against his muscles.

 

They were constantly in motion, never holding the same position for long.  Both their passions had been restrained so long, kept barely in check by awkwardness and shyness and a sureness that this could never _possibly_ happen that, when it did, neither could keep their hands to themselves, grasping onto hair and clothes and flesh in a desperate, yearning _hunger_ to be closer.

 

If they were in a private place, his apartment or hers, she was almost certain she’d have already been tearing away at his clothes, fuck the consequences up the ass.

 

But they weren’t, of course.  Kouta and Hermann were just outside, and while it didn’t sound like they’d heard their momentary abandonment of any and all inhibitions, she wasn’t exactly the type of woman to start fucking in the middle of a grocery store.  She loved sex, but she had _some_ class.

 

Thus, it was her who finally ended the extended make-out session, parting slowly and gradually from his warm, soothing lips and blinking away the tears still gathered at the rims of her eyelids.

 

“That was…umm…” he said in a very quiet voice, his cheeks burning so hot they were practically steaming.

 

“It was…err.  Yeah.  Very, _very_ …‘umm’…” she replied with a smirk, though her face was just as red.  “Where’d you learn to…I mean, like _that_ …?”

 

“Dunno.  Maybe it’s the bi thing?  Err…I mean, y’know…‘cuz I guess, I kinda, like…have more of an idea…uh…what guys and girls, umm…” he tried to answer, though he succeeded in little else but tying his tongue even _more_ thoroughly in knots.  “Err…sorry.  I’m not good at talking about this stuff.  Or any stuff, right now.  I’m too…uhh…”

 

“Surprised I felt the same way?” Junko guessed.

 

“Yeah, uh…that thing.  That thing you just said,” muttered Tomohisa, not meeting her eyes.  “I never thought, I mean…well, _look_ at you.  You’re the smartest, sexiest, most _incredible_ person I’ve ever met.  I was satisfied enough just getting to know you, getting to be your friend.  I never _dreamed_ you could look at me like…like a…”

 

“Like what?  Like the nicest man on the goddamn _planet?_   Like the sweetest, the gentlest, the most charming guy I’ve _ever_ known?” she said breathlessly.  “Tomohisa, I’ve spent the past eight months head-over-heels like some stupid little schoolgirl.  Counting the number of times you glance my way and shit like that.  _Trust_ me, the reasons I held out this long have _nothing_ to do with you.  That’s all on me.”

 

“Err…what _were_ those reasons, then?” he couldn’t keep himself from asking, before immediately thinking better of it.  “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t…”

 

“No…No, you deserve the truth,” she whispered, her head hung low.  “Look, like I said, it’s _not_ about you.  Err…you _specifically._   It’s about relationships.  Just the very idea of them.”

 

Junko let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

 

“I’ve been on my own, looking out for myself because no one else would, for as long as I can remember,” she went on to explain.  “So I’ve always planned out _everything._   What to eat, what to wear, the exact right way to finagle my way into the next big promotion.  I had my whole life mapped out, and I didn’t leave room for _anything_ else.  Any _one_ else.”

 

Finally, her eyes once again met his.

 

“But then I met you,” she said, her voice a dim, throaty murmur.  “And don’t get me wrong, those plans still mean the _world_ to me.  I _want_ to make my way up the ladder, I _want_ to be the best damn realtor I can be, and I _want_ to be the boss one day.  I’d just convinced myself I couldn’t have both – a career, _and_ a chance at love.  But every day I spent around you…made me just wanna say ‘fuck it,’ and try it anyway.  No… _do_ it anyway.”

 

“I hope you know I’d never…I mean, the fact that you’re so damn _driven_ is one of the biggest _reasons_ I love you,” responded Tomohisa.  “You’re strong, and confident, and you don’t take crap from anybody.  I _want_ to see you succeed, to be your own woman.  Hell, with this…all _this_ …”

 

He gestured widely to the shop around them.

 

“I was just trying to live up to _your_ example, really.  It wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t inspired me,” he added, before flushing again.  “Besides, umm…honestly, there’s nothing that gets me, well…more _turned-on_ than seeing you, y’know…”

 

Junko interrupted that thought with another kiss.

 

This one was even better than the last.


	4. Jiggety-Jig

“Okay, spill.  I am _not_ letting you get away again without _something_ juicy.”

 

In Junko Kaname’s firmly held opinion, her best friend was getting _far_ too much enjoyment out of constantly prying into her personal business.  She had a dim feeling Kazuko was surreptitiously trying to gain tips on how to maintain a relationship without it crashing and burning.

 

Fortunately, since the relationship in question was doing precisely the opposite, Junko was in far too giddy of a mood to deny her.

 

“Well, alright, if you _insist,_ ” she said, her voice light and teasing.  “Let’s see, what’d be interesting…oh wait, I know.  Between you and me, we…err, slept together for the first time last weekend.”

 

“Wait, it took you _this_ long?” asked Kazuko, mirroring her tone.  “You are _definitely_ not the same girl I roomed with in college.”

 

Junko playfully shoved her best friend and stuck out her tongue.

 

“Shut it, you bitch,” she replied through giggles.  “But you’re right, I’m not.  This isn’t some fling with the hottest stud at the party.  This is…well, I dunno _what_ to call it.  But I like it.  It’s different.  It’s _better._ ”

 

“How _was_ it, then?” whispered Kazuko, all traces of levity vanishing from her voice in an instant.  “I mean the…well… _you know_ …”

 

“You’ve heard that old cliché about the quiet ones?” said Junko, to which the teacher-in-training nodded.  “Well, uh…it’s true.  Let’s just say that.”

 

The bespectacled brunette clearly wasn’t going to just take that answer on its own, as she immediately demanded, “Details.  Now.”

 

“Well, you see, he’s…god, I just don’t _talk_ about this stuff, Kazuko,” responded Junko, flushing awkwardly.  “But he’s…really gentle.  At least at first.  Lets me set the pace I’m comfortable with, and then…err…after…that…”

 

“I did _not_ know human faces could get _that_ pink, Junko,” Kazuko cut in, patting her mortified friend on the shoulder.  “Although I suppose I’m studying to teach English, not biology…”

 

“You are the worst.  The literal, incomparable worst,” said Junko, utterly deadpan.  She reached for her drink and began to down the rest of it very quickly.  There was suddenly not _nearly_ enough alcohol in her body right now.

 

“Long story short, he fucks good.  Okay, he fucks _great._   And I’m probably gonna need some more of it tonight just to forget this conversation ever happened,” she added, before slamming the bottom of her now-empty glass _hard_ on the bar.  “That and about _twenty_ more of these!  Keep ‘em coming, Rebecca!”

 

Kazuko Saotome was silent for a while after this, before eventually murmuring, “I’m really jealous, you know.”

 

“That I can keep a boyfriend for more than a week at a time?” Junko couldn’t keep herself from asking, though she immediately regretted it.  “Wait, sorry, I didn’t mean it like…”

 

“No, it’s alright.  I kinda had that one coming,” said Kazuko, her voice subdued.  “What I mean is, you’ve been going out for…what, two months now?”

 

“Plus a week or two, yeah,” Junko answered with a nod.

 

“And you’re _still_ as goddamn giddy as you were the day you got together,” she continued on.  “I dunno, that’s…that’s just kind of _big_ to me.  I would’ve thought you’d have cooled off a bit by now, but the way you talk, you’re still going on dates practically every _day_ …”

 

“If you keep the definition of ‘dates’ wide enough, then I _guess_ that’s true,” Junko told her friend, though she was smiling all the same.  “But you _do_ have a point.  Tomohisa has a way of making freaking _everything_ just so…I dunno.  Romantic, I guess is the best word, but that’s only part of it.  Whatever we’re doing, wherever we’re doing it, he makes me feel like I’m the most special person in the whole fucking world.  Even if it’s just coffee or something.”

 

“And he cooks for you, _and_ he cleans, _and_ he never tells you that you’re starting to get crow’s feet even though you’re _clearly_ too young for that and how dare he even _suggest_ such a thing…!” exclaimed Kazuko, one fist clenched in the air as she began to sink into one of her signature rants.

 

Junko, for her part, just chuckled.  The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

 

[--------------------]

 

It was, indeed, a fairly idyllic relationship.  Certainly, Junko got into it _far_ more than she’d ever expected herself to.

 

Remaining a cynic was simply too damn hard when she was around Tomohisa.  He was so sincere, so _earnest_ in proving his affection for her, that it was practically infectious.  Each romantic gesture, a few of them grand and impressive but most small and everyday, made her want more and more to respond in kind.

 

He cooked her some wonderful French dish she couldn’t pronounce, but that tasted _so_ fucking good she came back for _fourths?_   She schlepped through five stores to track down the DVD for an obscure anime he’d loved as a kid.  He pressed and ironed all her suits in preparation for a business trip, so she wouldn’t have to waste time and money taking them to the cleaners?  She gave him a sensual massage after an especially long day at Wakō Garden.

 

Which, yes, had eventually turned into a night of wild sex.  Sometimes these sorts of things turned out to be reciprocal.

 

Meanwhile, both of their careers were going quite well, and Junko was forced to admit that having someone to fall back on made her times at the office a _lot_ easier.  Even if it was only a listening ear while she ranted about some shit-for-brains client, Tomohisa had a way of making the most excruciating days seem just a bit brighter, and she was grateful for it.

 

Plus, while she didn’t exactly _like_ it, she was well-aware that having a polite, well-spoken, professionally dressed man on her arm wasn’t exactly hurting her at social functions.  Her coworkers seemed to find her less… _intimidating_ that way, she supposed.  More at ease.

 

Which was stupid and sexist, of course.  But hey, you played the cards you were dealt.

 

Wakō Garden was succeeding well, if not spectacularly.  Apart from a couple rough months near the start, the store had thus far managed to turn a profit each quarter, albeit a modest one.  Word of mouth was good, and she’d helped the guys plan and execute a handful of special events to help drum up publicity.

 

The baking contest had been her favorite, since Tomohisa had quite shamelessly claimed the privileges of nepotism to make her one of the judges.

 

Of course, it wasn’t _all_ sunshine and rainbows.  After about thirteen months of dating, they’d decided to try moving in together.  It was a sensible decision – they both rented crappy one-bedroom apartments, and they both now made enough to afford something a little nicer if they pooled their incomes.

 

But the first few weeks had definitely been trying, on both their ends.  Many of their habits were very different.  He was a morning person, while she most assuredly was _not;_ he enjoyed the occasional glass of wine at dinner, while she could (and often did) outdrink a crew of rowdy sailors.

 

They’d had their first fight about…well, honestly, she wasn’t sure, as she’d been pretty damn plastered at the time.  Which, okay, didn’t exactly speak wonders for her side in the argument.  But still.

 

She _did_ remember them patching things up, however.  Oh yeah…she remembered it _very_ well.

 

Fantastic make-up sex aside, though, he turned out to be the ideal partner even in anger.  He never became violent, never made things personal or blamed her for things that weren’t her fault.  Even with his temper shortened, he still managed to talk through their problems in a logical and straightforward way, owning up to his mistakes and encouraging her to acknowledge her own.

 

That he could stand up to her, challenge her when she _needed_ to be challenged, _without_ ever sacrificing the good and kind man he was at his core, was one of the most attractive aspects of his personality to her.

 

She’d overheard Kouta once jokingly call him “pussy-whipped,” and she’d seen him just chuckle and shake his head in response.  Junko had done so too, once she thought about it a bit.  Because it might _look_ that way to the outside, with how naturally assertive she was and how very much Tomohisa _wasn’t._

 

But the truth of the matter was, her boyfriend was every bit the strong and independent personality she was.  He just didn’t feel the need to be a jerk about it.

 

They complemented each other, made each other better and stronger with every day they learned how to be together.

 

Which was, ultimately, how they’d come to _this_ moment.

 

[--------------------]

 

It was a fancier restaurant than they usually went to on their dates, in that it was a restaurant at all.

 

Ninety percent of the time, Tomohisa chose to cook for her, something which she didn’t mind in the _slightest._   The bespectacled man was a _genius_ in the kitchen, though he had no formal training.  And Junko was absolutely hopeless at preparing anything more complicated than ramen, so this suited her quite well.

 

Tonight, though, he’d surprised her after work with a reservation at an _incredibly_ fancy sushi place.  And flowers.  Fucking _flowers._

 

Sometimes, he was _such_ a cliché.  But Junko wasn’t exactly about to start complaining.

 

Based on the waiter’s recommendation, they’d wound up sharing a dish predominately composed of eel.  It was her first time eating something like that, and she’d been worried in the back of her mind until the moment she brought it up to her lips, but once she took her first bite she knew she needn’t have bothered.

 

“This is… _wow_ …” she said, after swallowing her third mouthful.  “I can’t believe how _good_ this is.  The way they prepared it is… _goddammit._   I don’t have words.”

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Tomohisa replied, smiling sincerely.  “I was nervous for a bit that it might not be your cup of tea.”

 

“I gotta know, how’d you even get a table here in the first place?” Junko asked.  “I looked it up, and the waiting list here is like two months long.”

 

“The manager is an old friend of Inaho’s.  He managed to pull a couple strings,” explained her boyfriend.  “It cost me a couple bags of my best cherry tomatoes, but it was worth it.”

 

“Alright then, _one_ more question,” she added, taking a long sip of the restaurant’s best wine as she did.  “ _Why_ go through all this trouble?  I mean, it’s not my birthday or some anniversary or anything.  Or at least I don’t think it is.”

 

“Nah, nothing like that,” said Tomohisa in a low voice.  “I just…well, umm…”

 

“Oh, _now_ I get it,” Junko cut across him, a devilish smirk spreading over her face.  “You’re trying to butter me up, get a little something in return?  Well, I think I can live with _that._   You know, there’s this cosplay shop I know that sells something that’s more or less ‘Slutty Sailor Moon,’ if you’re into that sort of thing…”

 

The brunette immediately turned a delicate shade of crimson, his eyes shooting downward to stare intently at his plate.

 

“No, that’s not it either!” he exclaimed in a squeaky voice, looking _ridiculously_ cute as he did.  “I mean, uh…I certainly wouldn’t say _no_ to that if you offered, but…err…anyway!  I’ll just go ahead and do this before I lose the nerve.”

 

“Do what?” she asked, honestly confused.

 

Instead of responding directly, however, he waited for her to drain the last of her wine before whispering, “Would you take a look at the bottom of your glass?”

 

Still unsure of what the hell was going on, Junko did as instructed.  And her heart skipped a beat.

 

For inscribed beneath the last dregs of the dark port she’d been drinking were several characters in kanji, each brushstroke perfect and precise.

 

_Will you marry me?_

 

“I hope that doesn’t look too cheap…I wasn’t sure if you were the type who’d want a ring or something like that…” said Tomohisa, his words stumbling over themselves to fill the increasingly lengthy silence.  “I mean, if you _want_ a ring, I’ll go out and get one tonight!  I just thought this would be appropriate, y’know…because you drink so much…not that I have a _problem_ with your drinking!  Aaaaaaaand stop talking Tomohisa, you’re only making things worse…”

 

But Junko was, admittedly, barely listening to her boyfriend anymore.  Her brain was _far_ too busy trying to process what’d just happened.

 

She’d _thought_ about marriage, sure, in the general sense.  What girl hadn’t?  But she’d just as quickly decided it wasn’t for her.  That life of the perfect Japanese wife – quaint little house, neatly trimmed yard, two kids and maybe a dog – simply wasn’t for her.

 

Then again…she’d been certain that a relationship like this _also_ wasn’t for her.  Up until it’d shown up right at her doorstep and proven itself to be, frankly, the best damn thing to ever happen in her life.

 

She was happier than she could ever remember being, simply by virtue of _dating_ Tomohisa.  But an entire _life_ together?  Joined at the hip as they navigated all the world’s ups and downs, together, till death did them part and all that jazz?

 

It didn’t sound _nearly_ as crazy as it would’ve just a few short months ago.

 

Junko loved him.  She hadn’t said it yet, in so many words, but she knew it was true.  And ultimately, that was all that mattered.

 

Before she’d even consciously acknowledged it, she knew what her answer was.  And a single, solitary word, loaded with a dozen others things she could think to say and a thousand she couldn’t, tumbled from her lips.

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

[--------------------]

 

The ceremony was small and intimate, though still undeniably beautiful.  They’d both agreed, and neither of them had had living parents to protest, that a lavish and expensive wedding would’ve been a colossal waste of money – especially as they were considering buying a house together within the next few years.

 

Tomohisa certainly brought out her romantic side far more than she’d ever thought possible, but that didn’t make her _stupid._

 

Still, they’d made the most of their modest budget.  A dress code (anything nice and white, basically) rather than _specific_ outfits picked out for the groomsmen and bridesmaids, a small portion of a nearby park they’d rented for a few hours rather than a fancier venue, and food that was largely homemade or provided by Wakō Garden, rather than by some expensive caterer.

 

Inaho served as the best man, with Kouta and Hermann rounding out the groomsmen.  Kazuko was the maid of honor, naturally, while Tomohisa’s sister Akane and Inaho’s wife Ryoko were invited to be her bridesmaids.  She didn’t know either of them _too_ well, but it seemed the diplomatic thing to do.

 

The Shinto priest who’d originally blessed Wakō Garden officiated the ceremony, while a few of Kazuko’s work friends provided entertainment.  _Why_ a bunch of teachers-in-training had decided to form a heavy metal band was a mystery, but they sounded pretty good and played cheap, so Junko wasn’t about to complain.

 

Overall, there were about fifty people present, most of whom Junko barely knew or only knew from work.  More staff members from _Frontier Settings_ had shown up than she’d been expecting, though she guessed her recent promotion had something to do with it.

 

For the first time in her life, the purple-haired woman had employees trying to suck up to _her._   It felt pretty good.

 

The ceremony itself passed her by like a blur, strange and confusing but oh so _right._   There were the standard spiritual and religious rites, and stumbled-through speeches (let it never be said Junko couldn’t match her fiancé in sheer ability to a jumbled-up ball of awkwardness), and the most wonderful kiss of her entire fucking _life_ which by this point was _really_ saying something.

 

And then, after what seemed like no time at all, they were dancing together, just the two of them.  As husband and wife.

 

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.  That was really true.  This’d really just _happened._

 

They were _husband_ and _wife._

 

“What’re you thinking about, right now?” he asked in a low voice as they twirled, in time with the beat.  Despite the heavy and powerful instruments used, Kazuko’s friends had chosen a surprisingly soft song to start off the evening.

 

She just smiled, leaned up, and kissed him one more time.

 

“This.  Just… _this,_ ” she whispered back, meaning every word.

 

[--------------------]

 

Ultimately, about three months after officially becoming Tomohisa and Junko Kaname, they _had_ wound up buying that house.

 

That’d surprised her quite a bit.  Not the house – it was gorgeous and an absolute _steal_ at that price, proving once and for all that it was a very good idea to have a realtor on your side when doing this sort of thing – but that he’d decided to take _her_ surname.

 

“Technically, the _tradition_ is that the lower-class person takes the family name of their spouse,” he pointed out, when curiosity finally got the best of her and she asked about it.  “And you make a _lot_ more money than I do.”

 

“If we’re going back to feudal times, sure,” she said, her lip curled upward a bit.  “But by _those_ standards we’d _both_ be filthy commoners.”

 

“Well, you’ve got me there,” replied Tomohisa, a smile appearing to match hers.  “Would you believe it’s just that I like the ring to ‘Tomohisa Kaname’ more than ‘Junko Inoue’?”

 

She gave a sly grin.  “I _think_ I could be persuaded of your sincerity,” she whispered, pulling him close and brushing her lips against his neck.  Dammit, bantering with him _always_ got her a bit randy.

 

Those first couple years of marriage had been simultaneously dream and nightmare, all at once.  Living together in a space that was all their own, paying down a mortgage and building equity (which, no matter _how_ much she knew about the business, was definitely a tougher matter from _this_ side of the equation), filing their first joint taxes…even for a certified “Type-A” personality like herself, it was all more than a little overwhelming.

 

But they pushed through, as a team, because it was worth it.  _They_ were worth it.

 

Work kept them both busy, but when their days off managed to coincide, they lived every moment as if they were newlyweds.  Which…they _were,_ to be fair.  But that was beside the point.

 

Tying the knot had done little to dampen Tomohisa’s passion for romance, and her desire to respond in kind.  Indeed, if anything, it’d only _strengthened_ them.

 

True, they no longer had nearly as much _time_ for the late-night, whirlwind sorts of dates, but they learned to make the most of what they _did_ have.  Even just curling up together to watch a movie was often enough, so long as he prepared a nice snack to go with it.  And so long as he was willing to put up with her snarky commentary throughout.

 

Which he did, of course.  Tomohisa put up with a _lot_ – more than she ever would’ve expected anyone to.

 

She’d lost count of the number of times she’d stumbled home, drunk off her ass and barely able to stand, because some fucker had stolen the promotion that was rightfully hers, or because Kazuko had just dumped _another_ twenty boyfriends and she couldn’t bear to hear about it sober.  Hell, sometimes she didn’t even get home at all – she’d clumsily dial for him and slur the name of the bar into her phone, then pray to the Gods of Alcoholic Beverages that he understood.

 

Yet he never complained, not once.  Or at least if he did, she’d been too drunk at the time to remember.  Either way, the man had the patience of a saint, and sometimes she simply couldn’t believe how _lucky_ she was to have found him.

 

Junko wasn’t the easiest person to live with.  She knew that, and _he_ knew that.  But by some strange, glorious miracle, he didn’t care.

 

Tomohisa was her husband.  Her _husband._   Sometimes that notion still floored her.  That any other person would care about her so deeply that, warts and all, he’d want to dedicate the rest of his life to being by her side…

 

It was the most incredible feeling.  Day-in and day-out.  So much more wonderful, and terrifying, and _beautiful_ all at the same time, than she ever could’ve imagined.

 

That was what those first few years were like.

 

So it was inevitable, really, that things would eventually have to make a change.

 

[--------------------]

 

On this day, Junko was lying on their living room couch, half-watching some dumb soap opera and leaning over every once in a while to vomit.

 

She’d been like this for nearly the entire week, taking sick leave from work for the first time in she-couldn’t-even- _remember_ -when.  And though he hadn’t asked her to, she’d voluntarily exiled herself from the bed a few days prior, just to make sure she didn’t pass anything along to Tomohisa.

 

He was as supportive as he always was throughout the ordeal, fetching her tea and hot towels with a speed bordering on superhuman.  But he was also at work now, and wouldn’t be home for another few hours.

 

Thinking about that nearly made her throw up again.  Times like this, she _needed_ her Tomo…

 

The doorbell rang, and Junko clutched her head in agony.  Right now it felt like every hangover she’d ever had in her life – which, needless to say, was a _lot_ – were getting together to have a dance-off in her skull.

 

Reluctantly, she raised her head and shouted, “It’s open!”

 

She heard the sound of a hand jiggling the door handle.  “No it’s not!” replied Kazuko’s voice.

 

“Well it’s locked, then!” exclaimed Junko in a slur, but ultimately, though she _very_ much didn’t want to, she dragged herself out from under her blankets and unlocked the door.

 

Kazuko was holding a thermos – of soup, presumably – and a basket full of off-the-shelf medications.  “Tomohisa called, asked me to deliver these to you,” she said, pushing her way in as she did.  “I didn’t know exactly what you had so I grabbed everything.”

 

Junko just gaped at the no less than twenty or thirty boxes her best friend was laden with.

 

“Hey, you figure it out, _you_ tell me,” she muttered miserably, collapsing back into her little cocoon on the couch.  “God, I’ve _never_ felt this bad.  Headaches, nausea, cramps, the _works._ ”

 

“Err…well, I had _one_ other theory…” responded Kazuko in a small voice, not meeting her eyes.  “Just to be on the safe side, you know.  Please don’t get mad.”

 

She pulled one particular box out of the massive pile, and handed it to Junko with trembling fingers.

 

The realtor’s eyes went wide as saucers.

 

“You cannot be serious,” she said.

 

[--------------------]

 

Fifteen minutes later, Junko stood in front of her bathroom mirror, watching an indicator light slowly turn from white to blue.

 

“You _cannot_ be serious,” she repeated to herself, struggling to grasp everything that’d just changed in this single moment.

 

[--------------------]

 

When Tomohisa came home that night, it was to find his wife sitting at the table, nervously wringing her hands and determinedly looking everywhere but at him.

 

After learning the reason for her sudden change in health, Junko had immediately sent Kazuko home with a terse “Thank you.”  The young teacher had offered to talk, of course, but Junko had told her that she needed some time alone to think.

 

But no amount of time could’ve _really_ prepared her for this moment.

 

“Hi, honey,” he said with a wave, his tone bright and compassionate.  “Did that soup help at all?  I managed to whip it up on my break, but I don’t really think it was my best work…”

 

“No, no, it was delicious,” murmured Junko, grateful for the chance at small talk.  Anything to delay the moment where she’d have to break the news.  “Thank you so much.”

 

“Anytime, Junko,” he replied pleasantly, pulling her in for a light, careful hug.  “Are you feeling any better?  Anything else I can do to help?  Just name it.”

 

In response, she kissed him gently, on the cheek.  “Just…sit down, okay?” she told her husband.  “I…I need to tell you something.”

 

Tomohisa complied instantly.  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes shimmering with concern.

 

Junko had spent the last several hours trying to figure out the best way to put this…and had come up with a grand total of diddly and squat.  As such, with no better ideas coming to the surface, she went ahead and got it over with.

 

“I’m pregnant!” she said, more loudly than she’d been intending.

 

There was a very long, very uncomfortable silence that followed her blurting out those words.  If the news itself hadn’t been enough to throw Tomohisa for a loop, the tone she’d said them in certainly hadn’t helped.  It was a strange, indecipherable mix of agony, elation, and regret, and it captured the emotions swirling inside of her now perfectly.

 

How was he supposed to figure out how she was feeling, and sympathize with it, when _she_ didn’t even know?

 

Ultimately, he pulled his chair up to sit beside hers and, without saying anything, slung one arm across her back.  Junko didn’t speak either, but privately, she was grateful beyond words.

 

She hadn’t _honestly_ expected him to just turn tail and run, which didn’t mean part of her hadn’t feared it.

 

Finally, after she-had-no-idea-how-long, his lips parted slightly, and he whispered, “This is…a happy moment, isn’t it?  I’m happy, I mean.  Like, _really_ happy.  But if you aren’t…that is, it’s your choice.  You don’t, err… _we_ don’t have to…”

 

Junko held up a hand to stop him.

 

“I know what you’re getting at, but I’ve thought this over a lot.  I’m keeping it,” she said.  “I mean, it’s not like I never thought about it before.  Deep down, y’know?  A child, with…with _you,_ Tomo.  I certainly didn’t think it’d happen so _soon,_ but…”

 

She couldn’t come up with any words to continue.

 

“Well, if you’re willing to give it a shot, then I’m in too.  One-hundred percent,” responded Tomohisa, his voice full of conviction…and at the same time, not a small amount of terror.  “God, I’m going to be a father.  A _father_ …”

 

As he pulled and tugged at his face, however, so overwhelmed by emotion that all the energy in his body had essentially flowed out of him, he noticed his wife’s expression, and quickly leaned back toward her.

 

“You’re about to cry,” he stated, placing one hand across her cheek as he did.  It wasn’t a question.

 

True to his word, a few seconds later, the first tears began to flow.  “I just…I’m just not…I’m just not _ready…!_ ” Junko managed to choke out.

 

“Not ready for what?” Tomohisa asked quietly.

 

She tried, ineffectually, to dab at her puffy eyes.  Her husband had a bit more success, and she gave him a small smile as he did.

 

“I’m just not ready to…to give it all _up,_ ” she said after a little while, her voice hoarse and throaty.  “After all these years, my career is _finally_ tracking to where I always dreamed it’d be, but now…”

 

Junko paused to swallow, hard, and when she spoke again she sounded a bit clearer, though no less distraught.

 

“I know I already get enough glares, having kept my job after marrying you.  They think I can’t see them, but I do,” she continued.  “But _you_ didn’t care, so I said _fuck ‘em_ and didn’t let it get me down.  But _this?_   Babies are a full-time job on their own.  You can’t half-ass it and expect things to turn out okay.  I learned _that_ well enough from _my_ dad.”

 

The words were barely out of her lips before Tomohisa answered, “We’re a team, remember?  You don’t have to quit _anything_ if you don’t want to.  If it’s okay with you, _I’ll_ stay here and take care of the child.”

 

Junko’s found her mouth hanging agape, wider than it’d ever been since the night he’d confessed to her in the middle of Wakō Garden.

 

“You…You’re _sure_ about that?” she asked, her lip trembling at what he’d just offered.  “But…the store…”

 

“Will do just fine without me,” said Tomohisa, sounding more and more sure of himself with each word he uttered.  “Let’s face facts: you’re going places.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see you as the CEO in ten or fifteen years.  Whereas Wakō Garden is pretty much making exactly as much money as it ever will.  And Kouta’s ready to take my spot running things.  He wasn’t a few years ago, but he is now.”

 

“But it was your _dream_ …” she muttered, now leaning her head against his shoulder.

 

“To see it _happen,_ yeah.  Not to own it forever,” he explained, lightly stroking her hair as he did.  “Look, thanks to you and me and the others…there’s _finally_ a place in Mitakihara where the average guy off the street can get some fresh produce, anytime he wants.  _That_ means something to me.  But balancing the register, restocking inventory, paying property tax?  That’s all just busy work.  And it doesn’t have to be _me_ doing it.”

 

He held her close, and Junko took a moment to savor the feel of him around her, the scent of his clothes and the warmth of his arms.

 

“But if the rest of my life was just staying in this house, waiting for you to come home?  Cooking and cleaning and just _being there,_ for you and a kid or two?” added Tomohisa, his tone soft and sincere in that way _nobody_ else could match.  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do more.”

 

The tears were falling freely by that point – but now they were happy ones, hot and damp and absolutely _ecstatic._

 

“I love you,” she said through choked, halting breaths, suddenly desperate to pull her mouth against his, to _show_ him how much it was true.  “God, I love you so _fucking_ much, Tomo…”

 

“I love you too, Junko,” he replied, though the declaration was accompanied by a sort of forced, nervous grimace.  “So I hope you take it with the best of intentions when I say…err…that your…your _breath_ …”

 

Belatedly, Junko realized that she hadn’t washed her mouth out since the last time she’d purged what she now knew to be morning sickness – or whatever you called “morning sickness” when it came in the afternoon – and flushed horribly.

 

“Oh god, I am so so so so so _so_ sorry…!” she squeaked, immediately running for the bathroom for an _extremely_ vigorous application of mouthwash.

 

[--------------------]

 

When she returned, Tomohisa was sitting at the dinner table, one hand flipping through various documents and the other tapping away furiously at a calculator.

 

He looked up when she arrived, and gave a small smile.  “Working out expenses.  Well…roughly,” he said.  “Money’ll be tight for a while, but even without my income I think we could pull this off.”

 

Junko kissed her husband on the neck.  “God, you’re _so_ hot when you’re practical,” she told him, half teasing and half completely sincere.  She was gonna enjoy having hormonal changes to blame for how horny she’d be for the next nine months.

 

She needed _something_ to make up for the fact that she wouldn’t be able to drink for that long.

 

“You are literally the only person on Earth who would say that,” replied Tomohisa, not at all disapprovingly.  He kissed her back on the lips to demonstrate, thankfully smelling only fresh mint on them now.

 

“That’s probably true,” she whispered, now playing with his hair as she draped herself over his shoulders.  “You know, you’ve been…so _fucking_ wonderful, through all of this.  I feel like…like I should let you have _something_ in return, right?  For everything you’re giving up.”

 

“Nothing I’m giving up is worth a _tenth_ what having a family with you would be,” said Tomohisa, his voice soft and utterly contented.  “But what’d you have in mind?”

 

“I think…I wanna give you first dibs on the baby’s name.  That would be fair, wouldn’t it?” she offered, nuzzling against him.  “I reserve the right to veto if I just can’t stand it, of course.  But otherwise, it’s your call.”

 

“Oh…wow…” murmured Tomohisa, his eyes widening behind his glasses.  “That’s…a lot to put on a guy.”

 

“You don’t have to decide right now, of course!” Junko hastily added.  “Just…something to think about, y’know?”

 

“No, actually I…this is something I’ve thought about before.  Not really seriously, but…err…” he said quietly.

 

“Well if you have ideas already, I’d love to hear them,” responded his wife.  “Umm…I dunno if that came out sounding sarcastic or sincere, but I _meant_ it to be the latter.  Promise.”

 

Tomohisa chuckled a bit.  “Uh, well…I guess if you’re asking…” he muttered nervously.  “I always liked the name… _Tatsuya,_ for boys.  I’m not sure why.  I guess I just like the ring to it.”

 

“Tatsuya…” Junko repeated in a low voice, testing the sound of it on her tongue.  “Yeah, I think I could see that one.  And if it’s a girl?”

 

At this, however, her husband bit his lip.  “If it’s a girl…well…” he said, steadying himself with a few deep breaths before going on.  “If it’s a girl…I was wondering if…if…”

 

“Go on,” she asked of him, trying to sound encouraging.  Even after all this time spent together with Tomohisa, she still didn’t _quite_ have the knack for it.

 

“I wondered if…we could name her after my mom,” Tomohisa finally finished, his eyes slightly moist.

 

Junko thought about this for quite a while.  The warm smile and sage advice she’d received from Mrs. Inoue, even if they’d only met the one time.  The clear influence she’d had on making her husband into the kind, gentle, _amazing_ soul he was today.

 

And how utterly, truly _happy_ she’d clearly been, seeing the two of them in love.

 

Junko smiled wide, and kissed Tomohisa again.

 

“Yeah…I like the sound of that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as he got up from his chair and embraced her with all his heart and soul.

 

She placed one hand over her abdomen, and imagined the future that lay before them now.  What incredible, _wonderful_ twists and turns their relationship might take in the years to come.

 

A relationship that’d began, all those years ago, with a dropped crate full of cherry-red tomatoes, and would continue on with…

 

“ _Madoka Kaname._ ”


End file.
